Mirrors
by Ardent Aspen
Summary: Will you look into my mirror? I do not know what you will see, for even the very wisest cannot tell. My mirror shows many things: Things that were not, things that are not, and things that will not come to pass.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know how to classify this other than a series of short one-shots that never happened. Most of them are connected to Transformers: Prime, but one or two may be from the live-action movies. There are two in this chapter, and maybe more later.**

**That's all I really have by way of explanation. If you like one of them, let me know! I might expand it sometime.**

* * *

The Name

Galloway watched the men of N.E.S.T. with growing consternation. By now, most people were either trying to curry favor with him or threatening to kill him, but beyond a first encounter, neither of these had happened. He remembered the day when Master Sergeant Epps had stood up to him regarding the Autobots' place on Earth. Snidely, thinking how clever he was, he'd said, "Soldier, you're paid to shoot, not talk." He hadn't heard what the man had muttered under his breath, but he _did_ see the mammoth robot they called "Optimus Prime" make a calming gesture and murmur, "Easy." Instantly, the man relaxed, murmuring, "Aahroh, T'o't." And there hadn't been another word about it. That was the first time Galloway heard the name.

The politicians never said those words, the other Autobots never said those words, only the soldiers of N.E.S.T. did. Galloway started observing them, trying to see why they said the mysterious phrase and whether it was some sort of code he needed to tell the White House about. There was certainly a pattern in the _way_ the words were said as well, he discovered. Younger soldiers, men and women who had only just been recruited, would stare with wide eyes at the Peterbilt truck and gulp, "Aahroh, T'o't." in timid voices. The ones who had been there from the beginning, like Epps and Lennox spoke the words with a mixture of confidence and respect. In time, the politician gathered that it was almost a preferred form of address among the soldiers for Optimus Prime. He wondered whether it was a word from the aliens' language. Even the Witwicky boy used the word sometimes, but not often.

The one time Sam had said it within his hearing, he'd been covertly watching from a hidden camera as Director Mearing began to belittle the young man, criticizing him as a civilian and for bringing his girlfriend to the base. The boy's face was red, and Galloway had seen Witwicky enough times to know that an über-sarcastic tirade was coming Mearing's way that would only strengthen her position. From across the hangar, without even looking away from what he was doing, the Prime called "_Samuel.__Vtz payrway vahray j'tjoo__.__" _Or that's as close as Galloway's brain came to translating the sounds. To his surprise, rather than argue or toss a quip at his antagonist, as was his wont, Sam merely clenched his teeth and, with an effort, ground out, "Aahroh, T'o't." Optimus nodded and motioned the humans to join the Autobots, effectively cutting off Mearing's attack. Well, for once Galloway didn't disagree with the giant warrior.

He personally catalogued over two hundred individual uses of the phrase "Aahroh, T'o't" as well as some fifty uses of "Aahroh, Optimus" and fifteen uses of simply "T'o't". Every time it was said, the Autobot leader always reacted with a curious little smile, no matter the context of the situation. After finding no equivalent in any of the languages that the humans on the base spoke, he decided that it must be a Cybertronian word. Arrogantly, Galloway barged into the mess hall one day and demanded that the men explain the name to him. The eyes that looked into his were cold and hard. "That's not something we share with people who haven't earned the Autobots' trust," Lennox said flatly. Oh joy. Loyalty melodramatics. "It sounds to me like a code," Galloway snarled, "And unless you want me to tell the Pentagon that you're all conspiring against your country with aliens, you'll tell me what it means!" The men and women looked at each other, then to Epps, who had yet to speak. They seemed to be holding a conference merely with their eyes.

Epps stood and stretched, then locked his hands behind his back and casually walked up to meet Galloway. "Conspiracy theories? I think you've been watching too much "X-Files", sir," he said pleasantly, "It doesn't mean anything sinister, or even applicable to the military!" The tone was light, the words pleasant, but Galloway got the feeling that this man was fully prepared to break him in half if pushed. Carefully, he made an attempt at humility. "You have to admit that it sounds suspicious to outsiders," he reasoned, "You boys seem to want to avoid the appearance of wrongdoing, so why just settle the matter?" Epps and Lennox caught each other's eyes and frowned. "Aahroh means "I understand", or "Very good," that's all," Will said calmly, "We asked Ironhide to teach us the word." Pointedly ignoring the slippery director, he turned back to his plate and continued eating. "And what about the other word? Why do you call the Autobot commander "t'o't"?" Galloway's curiosity put a demanding tone in his voice.

The moment he pronounced the word, every soldier in the hall glared at him as if he'd committed a sacrilege. "That's _our_ name for Prime, not yours!" one woman hissed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, and Galloway wondered if he could have planned this better. "Tell me why," he tried to sound in-control of himself. "Why do you call him that?" As one, the members of N.E.S.T. stood threateningly. Robert Epps strode forward and seized Galloway by the collar before he spoke for them all. "We call him T'o't because he _allows _us to call him by that name. We earned his trust, and he earned ours." The tension in the room heightened, and Galloway began to sweat. Something was happening here that he did not and could not understand. These were _aliens_, and common _soldiers_! What could they possibly share to make them so protective of each other that they wouldn't allow a perceived threat to even use their name for their ally?

The room shook with the impact of approaching footsteps in a slow, measured gait. Grins spread across the faces of the assembled humans and they snapped to attention as a massive form bent down to peer into the mess hall. "What is going on?" Optimus asked. He sounded inquisitive, but Galloway thought he sounded more like the parent who has caught the child at mischief and wishes to hear an explanation. The Autobot frowned. "Director Galloway. I was not aware that you were here. I was under the impression that you were to confer with Director Mearing before entering this base." He turned his serene gaze to the soldiers, particularly Epps and Lennox. "I hope there have been no problems?" The two old friends sounded as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths as they chorused, "Je, T'o't." As with every instance of the word, Optimus's impassive face softened into a gentle smile. He shook his helm wonderingly. "Leave the director alone, gentlemen. He has enough to worry about without worry of assault."

Galloway hastily made his retreat, and did not set foot in the mess hall again.

He never did learn the meaning of the word.

He never did find out that Ironhide had taught the soldiers to call Optimus "Father".

**(Inspired by the way the Autobots act around humans in the movie novelization of Dark of the Moon. "T'o't", by the way, is a Nez Perce word for father)**

Tabula Rasa

The first thing he noticed was the silence. He had the vague impression that he had just done something very important, but for the spark of him he could not remember _what_. He groaned and sat up with a hand to his helm. Wherever he was, it was dark, and the taint of something evil ran through the chamber. The warrior shuddered. The sooner he found a way out, the better! The soft blue light from his optics fell upon a second form, not far from him. It groaned softly and tried to push itself upright. The first mech crouched curiously in front of the second. He _knew_ this warrior, he was certain of it! The prone form raised its helm and a flood of half-remembered emotions and memories nearly overwhelmed the first. This was a friend, a supporter, this was-

"Where are we, Megatronus?" the smaller mech asked. Megatronus shrugged and heaved him to his pedes. "I do not know, Little Brother. There is something deeply disquieting about this place."

Arms thrown over each other's shoulders for support, they began to look for a way out. Without warning, three armed Cybertronians burst into the room, looking battle-ready. "Don't shoot!" Megatronus shouted, pushing his brother behind him. The two mechs and the femme looked confused. The confusion doubled when Orion tapped Megatronus on the shoulder and whispered, "Who are they? Do you think the Council sent them?" Megatronus snorted. "Primus, I hope not." The big green one edged closer. "Optimus, come on! Don't you recognize us?" Orion and Megatronus looked around to see who the soldier was speaking to, but they didn't see anyone else besides them. Arcee's optics widened in horror. "He can't remember!" she whispered. "Your pardon," Megatronus said politely, but with a touch of irritation, "But if it wouldn't be _too much trouble_, my brother and I have no idea where we are, and we would like to leave. We have a meeting with the Council tomorrow, and I wouldn't like to miss it because some idiot threw us in a hole and left us to rust."

The three intruders gaped openly. "What did you just say?!" the femme demanded sharply. Orion answered, hoping to defuse the situation. "We were to meet with the Council tomorrow. Megatronus is going to speak against the caste system." The little yellow one buzzed and hummed worriedly to the others. "No, no this can't be an act," Bulkhead realized, "They _both_ think they're on Cybertron!" He opened his commlink and hailed a familiar Cybertronian. "Ratchet set up the med bay! We need a Bridge." Orion's optics lit up. "I know Ratchet!" he exclaimed, "He'll know what's going on!" "That's what we're hoping," the blue femme sighed. Within moments, they were standing in a primitive missile silo with a very irate medic glaring at the two of them. "What were you _thinking_?" he yelled at them. "Is he talking to me or you?" Orion whispered. "Well, he's looking at _you_, but in my experience with mechs from Iacon, everything is always _my_ fault," Megatronus joked.

If possible, this seemed to make Ratchet even more livid. "You!" he growled to the Kaonian gladiator, "Med berth, now!" The silver mech grimaced, but did as he was told. As the doctor began to run scans of his mighty frame, the onlooking Orion leaned over with interest. "Well, now we'll finally know whether or not you really _do_ have a processor under there!" he knocked on Megatronus's helm cheerfully. Ratchet almost dropped the scanner in his shock. "You too," he said after a few wordless moments, "Get on the other berth." He ran a preliminary health scan, then a processor scan, then another processor scan, then a third processor scan. The data was there, but it didn't make sense! "Wait here," he ordered his patients sternly. He swept off to find the other Autobots and share his discovery.

After a few seconds of silence, Orion muttered, "Do you think he meant "here" as in the berths, or "here" as in the med bay itself?" Megatronus scowled. "Did you see that wrench? You can do what you like, but I'm not going to risk leaving!" His brother chuckled and scooted himself into a sitting position next to the older mech. "Have you thought about what you're going to say when Councilor Ratbat objects? You _know_ he's going to object." Megatronus opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, suddenly startled. "Look!" he whispered, pointing to a flash of movement and color on the floor. "What is it, Brother?" Orion asked, curious. The larger warrior shushed him quickly and hopped off the berth to crouch in front of a stack of crates. "Ssh! You'll scare it!" Orion moved to join him, peering into the shadows. Something tiny and delicate and alive was staring back at them from behind the box.

"What is it?" Megatronus wondered aloud. Beside him, Orion shuffled forward to get a better look. "Well, I _think_ it's a sparkling of some kind. It looks like it came out of the Well a little too soon, don't you think?" Blue optics sparkled with fascination as Megatronus slowly reached for the tiny being. "Hello there," he whispered, "Where are your guardians, little one? Are you all alone?" The strange sparkling squeaked and tried to scramble away from the silver talons, but he'd boxed himself in behind the crates. Carefully, Megatronus lifted him and cradled him in his palms. Ratchet returned to find Optimus and Megatron sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a shaking Rafael Esquivel. With a cry, the medic stormed over and snatched the boy from the Decepticon's hand. Megatronus was startled for a moment, then smirked. "Offhand, I'd say we found his guardian." Orion twisted in his spot to look up at the Autobot. "Ratchet, I didn't know you had any sparklings," he said innocently. Ratchet sputtered, unable to answer.

Suddenly, Megatronus tapped Orion's arm and pointed to where two more of the unusual sparklings stood watching them with wide optics. "It's alright, don't be frightened," Orion coaxed, holding out one hand, "We won't hurt you!" Cautiously, the larger of the two crept towards them, skirting Megatronus very obviously before coming to stand next to Orion. The other had no such inhibitions, scurrying up to them right away with a smile. Orion gently scooped the two into his arms and held them up to see him and his brother. "I am Orion Pax," he whispered, trying to keep them at ease. Megatronus nodded. "And I am the Ugly One," he said flatly, "Usually known as Megatronus." The one in Ratchet's hand stared at them, then turned a questioning gaze to the medic. Ratchet nodded. "When Optimus gave up the Matrix of Leadership, I fear he lost more than the collective wisdom of the Primes. He lost his memories, and it appears that Megatron was caught in the backlash."

"How long do you think it will last?" Arcee murmured from the door, utterly astonished by the gentled warlord smiling and nodding as Miko chatted gaily to him. "I don't know," Bulkhead growled, "But if he doesn't mind his manners around Miko, he's going _down_." Megatronus and Orion both were shocked and horrified to discover what had become of their homeworld, and the danger their war posed to this strange planet inhabited by squishy sparkling-people. It wasn't until Bumblebee caught Megatron on the top of the mesa contemplating suicide over his role in the war that the Autobots began to truly believe that he meant them no harm.

In time, Ratchet convinced them that Orion and the sparkling called "Jack" needed to go to Kaon with the Key to Vector Sigma, saying only that there was something they had to do there. Megatron held the Space Bridge almost single-handedly as his brother and the human disappeared into the vortex with Arcee. When the figure of Orion Pax walked back through the Bridge, Megatronus was surrounded by unconscious Vehicons and was in the middle of a heated battle with Soundwave. Optimus Prime blinked in surprise at the sight. He remembered releasing the Matrix into Unicron's spark, then standing on Cybertron with Jack and Arcee. He wasn't expecting to see Megatron fighting his most trusted lieutenant, nor was he expecting to see the mighty Decepticon shove Bumblebee out of the way of a laser blast, taking the brunt of the attack in his left shoulder. He grunted in pain and barely blocked Soundwave's attack. A second round of lasers startled them both, and Soundwave bridged away quickly.

Megatronus stood and shook his injured shoulder roughly, assessing the damage. "I had it sorted," he muttered petulantly. Optimus raised an eyebrow calmly as the Decepticon reached down to help Bumblebee to his pedes. "Is it true, then?" Megatronus asked quietly, noticing the change that had come over his normally jovial brother, "Are you a Prime?" "Yes." The gladiator threw back his helm and laughed. "Well, I was right! _One_ of us was meant for greatness!" The battle mask retracted and Optimus allowed a small smile to creep over his faceplate. He was grateful to the boy and Arcee for explaining his old nemesis's memory loss before he returned to Earth, else he might have attacked his own ally. He watched as Megatron—no, Megatronus—bent down and held a servo out to Jack, who shook it firmly. "Well done, little Autobot!" the warlord boomed, "Brave spark indeed!"

Optimus commed Ratchet, requesting a Ground Bridge. He turned to his family, standing with and beside him. "Let us go home."

**I don't think this one needs much explanation other than I'd noticed that Megatron's optics were blue before he set himself against his brother.**

**more next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This next one's been bouncing around in my head since before I wrote "Colony 21186D: Survival", and was actually the plot bunny that gave rise to the idea of Metamorphosis.**

Olympus

(Set during "Orion Pax parts 1 and 2)

"How goes Project Iacon?" When he was met with silence, Megatron frowned and looked up. Orion Pax was slumped despondently against the wall, a datapad dangling from unresponsive servos. "Orion? Is something the matter?" In the back of his processor, Megatron wondered if perhaps he was pushing the librarian too hard, too soon. He followed Orion's optics to one of the smaller screens set into the wall. Displayed on it was video footage of a bombing in the planet's eastern hemisphere. The humans were shouting and running from the flames, not all of them lucky enough to escape. Quite suddenly the feed switched to a live report of some terrible sickness ravaging a city. Orion lifted his helm and brushed coolant from the corners of his optics. "They're dying," he whispered. "Yes." Megatron stated simply. "Can we not save them?" The Decepticon shook his helm decisively. "We cannot interfere. They are not yet ready to know of our existence, my friend. And they would not cooperate. In my limited experience with humans, I have found that they will go out of their way to do the opposite of what you tell them to do."

"Well," Orion muttered, "They are _very_ young." He tightened his grip on the datapad. "Surely, with time, they would come to accept us. If we do not make the first overtures, how can they know to trust us?" The two Decepticon guards at the door shifted uncomfortably as their leader asked sharply, "Why this sudden interest in humanity, Orion Pax? Is not the survival of your own race more pressing at the moment?" "I am sorry, Megatron. I find it very difficult to concentrate just now. Surely, speaking to just _one_ human couldn't-" he was cut off by a wave of Megatron's hand. "Enough, Orion. It will wait for another day."

"But Megatron-"

"Leave it, Pax."

"But if you would just _listen-_"

"Enough! I have spoken." Megatron sighed and pulled a hand over his faceplate. "Return to your studies, Orion," he growled, "The World of Men is not our concern."

"The World of Men is our _only_ concern!" Orion shouted back.

The guards gasped and edged towards the door as Megatron turned to face the archivist ever so slowly. "_What did you say_?" he hissed. Orion trembled, but he had come too far to back down now. "The Autobots, Project Iacon, even Cybertron! None of it will matter in the grand scheme of history if we let this planet fall. If humanity dies, so do we!" As the warlord descended like a thundercloud, the archivist retreated as far as the narrow room would allow him. Optics squeezed shut, he held the datapad out in front of him and braced himself for the gladiator's legendary temper. The tablet was snatched from his servos, but neither blows nor tirade followed. Orion unshuttered one optic cautiously. Megatron held the datapad and scanned it quickly, then a second time, slower. His brows lowered more by the second so that when he looked up suddenly, Orion flinched. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is," he sounded concerned, but not angry.

Orion remained at what he deemed to be a safe distance from Megatron, but he nodded his helm and answered softly, "The one on the left is the chemical makeup of a Cybertronian infant. The one on the right..." He watched as the Decepticon leader reeled slightly and leaned heavily against the console. "This...changes _everything_," he rasped. "Do you understand what this means Orion?" The red and blue mech nodded solemnly. "This is no longer a battle to settle old scores: we are fighting to protect our own race from self-annihilation." Decisively, Megatron straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms behind his back. "Return to Project Iacon for now, Orion," he commanded, "But when I send for you, you will join Knock Out in a new endeavor: the preservation of our young brethren." Pax bowed his helm gratefully. "Thank you, Megatron," he murmured.

The ex-gladiator left the database room quickly and commed both Soundwave and Knock Out. "It has come to my attention that the organic species upon this planet is more than it seems. Further study is required. Knock Out, you will coordinate with Orion Pax and review his notes. He will explain further." The medic spluttered and stammered, of course, completely discombobulated. Megatron was not interested in excuses, he wanted results. Knock Out was given a deadline and the vain mech quickly realized that it was in his best interests to cooperate with Orion Pax. "Soundwave," the warlord began again, "Human subjects are needed. I trust you know where to find, oh, say _three_ young ones? Two males and a female, perhaps?" The spy knew what was being asked of him, and sent a submissive but inquisitive glyph in return. Megatron's optics hardened.

"We have seen humanity, Soundwave, and they are us."

* * *

A Place to sit and Ponder

London, England. 1878

The door closed with a soft click as the young woman turned to lock it behind her. "Until tomorrow," she murmured with a soft smile. Taking care to pin her fashionable blue hat more firmly to her dark, upswept hair, the secretary pulled her tailored coat a little tighter over her riding habit and unfastened the tired old bicycle from the iron railing. Her departure did not go unnoticed. Several pairs of unfriendly eyes watched from the rooftops in the rows of fine houses. Then, quick as a thought, they were gone. The woman coasted easily along the roads, and the mansions gave way to humbler buildings. She did not try to avoid the puddles and the slush. What good would that have done in February? Mud splashed up onto the cobalt hem of her dress.

The houses became more run down as she reached the part of her journey where she would unfortunately have to cut through the edges of London's East End. Standing at a corner in the waning light, a young man attempted to sell newspapers. The secretary felt a stab of pity for the boy in ragged clothing: business was evidently not good today, and his thin shoes offered him no protection from the freezing conditions. Miss d'Iacon had encountered few problems that day, and was feeling charitable, so she stopped the bicycle and leaned over. "I'll take one, boy," she said coolly. The young man in question jumped, having not heard her approach. Pushing his floppy hat back from his blue eyes, the blushing boy handed her a paper. "Two for a pence, ma'am, if you like," he gulped.

If the woman was startled by his higher class accent, she did not show it. "Yes, thank you," she took a pence from her coin purse and placed it in the tattered glove. "You'll freeze out here," she observed, a compassionate look in her eyes, "And I doubt that anyone else will be out looking for news this evening. Why don't you go home, young man?" He shook his head, and pushed shaggy black bangs out of his eyes. "I wish I could, ma'am." He stopped and squinted over her shoulder. Vapor clouded between their faces as his breath hissed from between his teeth. The woman raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation. "Miss, don't turn around," the paperboy spoke in a low voice, "There's three men as have been following you since you turned onto this street. They haven't gone away this whole time you've been here. Forgive my forwardness, Ma'am, but I don't like the looks of them at all. I think you'd better clear out of here."

In the frosty shop windowpane behind the young man, the secretary caught the reflection of the men in question. Broad shoulders, athletic build, and all three wore deep purple scarves covering their mouths and noses. "Oh, _brilliant_," she growled. She calculated her options. She could get back on the bicycle and ride like her life depended on it—which it did—but there was no guarantee that she would outdistance them in a part of London she was unfamiliar with. Her second option would have been to enter one of the shabby-looking establishments on the street to hide, but they would likely be waiting when she left. Her third option was to stand and fight, and she hoped it would not come to that. Belatedly, the woman realized that the boy was speaking to her. "I beg your pardon?"

Patiently, he repeated his offer. "I can get you back to the West End, ma'am. I know all the streets between." "In return for what?" she asked sharply. Blue eyes darkened. "In return for you being safe, ma'am," the boy looked offended that she would question his motives. Miss d'Iacon glanced back at the three men in the alley, who were beginning to edge closer. "Oh, very well," she sighed, "But so help me, if you get us lost..." she let the threat hang in the air. That was all the paperboy needed. "Right, come on." Ignoring outraged protests, he seized her hand and took off at a run. Pausing in what appeared to be a dead-end street, the skinny figure stacked two empty crates on each other at a low brick wall. "Over you go," he directed breathlessly, "I'll be right behind." The pounding of feet on the cobblestones warned them both that their shadows were close behind. Miss d'Iacon never once lost composure as she slipped over the wall. The boy followed, pausing to kick the boxes down on his way. Then he had her hand and they were running again.

The light had disappeared into the fog as they made it to wealthier parts of the city. Their pursuers had not relented. "You realize, of course," the secretary panted, "That if those men are after me, you've just made yourself a target?" "That I have, Miss," her newfound ally replied raggedly, "But those fellows cause trouble on my street often enough, I don't see how it can get much worse." Miss d'Iacon scoffed at the boy's naivete. Their breaths came in gasps and their steps slowed as they wound through a maze of alleys and hidden gates towards the place of the woman's employment. "Now you follow me," she hissed, ducking into the shadows as one masked man got a little too close for comfort. The two crouched behind a corner as the sinister shape drew nearer. Suddenly, a thick brogue cut through the foggy night. "Well, would ye look there, Raphael m'lad? They do say as rats come out at night, don't they?"

Standing at the end of the alley, highlighted by the gaslights, was a well-built young Irishman with a shock of dark blonde hair tied back with a string. Beside him stood a small boy, well-dressed and wide-eyed. "And is he a rat then, Brendan?" The older boy winked broadly. "Oh, aye. That he is, boyo. An' ye know what we do about rats out here, don't ye?" The two cracked their knuckles and grinned savagely. A matching smile graced the lips of Miss d'Iacon. "Well at last we have some good luck!" she whispered to the paperboy. "Those men will handle our little problem. You run off home." The boy wrinkled his brow. "Men? I only see one man and one boy." His companion let out a rather unladylike snort. "Wherever Brendan Foiche goes, his Bull's Horn Band are sure to follow." The dark haired boy set his jaw. "Be that as it may, ma'am, I'll not leave until I've seen you safely to your destination." It was not often one ran across such an offer of chivalry from the younger generation, Miss d'Iacon reflected, and so she reluctantly agreed that he would accompany her a few minutes longer.

As she had predicted, Brogan O'Garvie and William "Wheels" Jerome soon turned up, eager for a brawl. Contrary to her predictions, however, one of the purple-scarved men managed to slip past them. He caught up to the fugitives in front of a beautiful marble house supported at the front by thirteen white pillars. "Bad luck for them," the assassin thought. He smirked behind the cloth over his face as the ragged boy clenched his fists and stood in front of the woman, ready to fight. The boy was not his target, but no one said he couldn't have a little fun while he was on duty. In the scuffle that ensued, the boy managed to blacken the thug's eye and land a few good punches on him, but for the most part, he came out the worst. Miss d'Iacon had not been idle during this time. As the young man bought her time, she whipped out a tiny pistol from her handbag and brought it to bear on their pursuer. The distinctive _click_ of the hammer being drawn back froze the criminal in his tracks. "Truly, sir, you are an imbecile," Mis d'Iacon snapped. "Not only did you follow me all the way to East End, but you dared assault innocent citizens in front of _his_ home!"

With an inarticulate sound of dismay, the assassin leapt to his feet from where he had been holding a knife to the paperboy's throat. Light spilled from the doorway and an authoritative voice rang out, "What is the meaning of this?" The would-be killer showed a wonderfully clean pair of heels as he fled into the night. "Miss d'Iacon, are you well?" the voice from the door asked. "Yes sir, quite well indeed," she replied calmly, "But I'm afraid our rash young friend here took a beating on my behalf." A tall man with a regal disposition hurried down the steps carrying a lantern. He tapped his squared jaw with one finger in thought. "I believe you had best come inside, the pair of you," he said. "I shall send for my physician at once." The young man began to protest as he was helped to his feet. "That's not necessary sir, I wouldn't want to trouble anyone." "Nonsense, young man. You'll come inside at once!" the older man's tone brooked no argument. Once inside, the boy found himself staring at what was quite possibly the largest collection of books he had ever seen in his life.

Dark eyes twinkled in a stern face. "Do you like books?" the man asked quietly, "I spent a great deal of my youth collecting them." He took the young man by the elbow and directed him to a chair as Miss d'Iacon explained their predicament. "Well, I should hope you know better than to cut through a part of town you are unfamiliar with," the deep voice interjected, one part scolding, one part amusement. A servant brought a basin of water and, thanking him, the master of the house dipped a handkerchief into the bowl and tried to clean some of the blood from the boy's face. "What's your name, lad?" he asked kindly. The answer was quiet and slightly strained as the cold water touched a cut. "Jack, sir. Jack Darby." The handkerchief came away stained red and was rinsed in the basin again. "Well, Master Darby, you are either very brave, or very rash. That was no common thief you fought with tonight, that was a trained assassin, sent to murder Miss d'Iacon." Jack blanched. "_Murder_ her? But why would anyone wish such a thing?"

The older man's eyes were tinged with sorrow. "Because of me. I am a man with enemies, my young friend, and all those who associate with me find themselves with enemies of their own." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Don't think I won't be tending to that scrape on your arm, Miss Arcee. Yes, I saw it, stop hiding it." The secretary flushed and dutifully rolled the sleeve back to show the angry red welt. The noble looking gentleman shook out a second handkerchief and dipped it into the water, tying it around the woman's forearm. "That should do until Doctor Rach arrives." Jack watched the strange man with awe, heightened by the sheer magnificence of the home in which he now sat. Who was this man? As if he had read his thoughts, their benefactor turned and smiled down at him. "Ah, where are my manners tonight? I asked for your name and never gave my own!" He offered a friendly hand to the stunned boy. "I am Lord Optimus of the house of Prime, and you are always welcome here."

**This was inspired by a series of drawings I found once. Look up "Transformers Prime Victorian" in Google images, and look for the black and white drawings of the characters as humans. The Wreckers are Irish, Miko is Chinese (because of the opium trade at the time period), Airachnid is a lady version of Jack the Ripper, and Starscream is Lord Megatron of Kaon's terrifying housekeeper. (Yes, female. And did I mention terrifying? She's terrifying.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! **

**Thank you to all who reviewed, I really appreciate the feedback!**

**This first scenario was partially inspired by the track "The Fallen Arrives" from "Revenge of the Fallen"**

Betrayal

You never thought it would come to this. The smoke of a thousand fires rises up and stings your eyes. You tell yourself that it is the reason for the tears that streak your face, but in your heart you know it is a lie.

Just another lie.

_I told them who to trust. I was so wrong._

The war is over. You scoff, there never was a war. Not for Earth. Words like "terrorist threat" and "mutually assured destruction" fly over your head. That was the impetus, but the step too far had been the threat of a multinational war. Sooner or later they were going to tire of humanity's childishness.

Did not the raising of children require discipline?

You want to scream, to shake your fist at the heavens and cry out, "Oh God, why? Why did You bring them to us?" but your mouth won't make the sounds. A woman is herded past you, sheltering several children as she goes. Her husband fought this, and she pays the price. You reach a hand out to help her as she stumbles; you need the human contact as much as she does. The woman turns and stares you in the face with a hatred that staggers you. "You're one of _them_!" she hisses, and spits at you. You do not react, you cannot. The prisoners are marched into the city square, and are promised justice and asylum so long as they do nothing to harm another human. You turn away and stare out at the bay. The sun is rising: the waters are as red as blood.

The ground beneath your feet begins to quake as one of Them draws near. You know who it is. You shut your eyes and hunch your shoulders, praying that he will not see you. It is a vain hope, for you are the reason he has come. _You are the reason They came at all_. The baritone that you once found so comforting washes over you from above. "I never wanted this." You do not look up. There is no response you can give that you do not fear would anger him. He speaks again. "We were forced into this. What has been done comes out of a desire to _protect_ you, to _shelter_ you. Your people will not lose their freedom." He sounds as though he is pleading for understanding. You cannot speak; you begin to count your heartbeats—your only assurance that you are, in fact, alive.

When the great metal hand wraps gently around you, you are unable to stop yourself from flinching with the smallest of whimpers. The hand retracts. "You...fear me?" the voice sounds so broken that you almost open your eyes. _It's not too late,_ you tell yourself, _I could run, dive into the sea, find some untouched corner of this wretched world_. But it was too late for you long ago. Once more, the earth trembles as the towering being behind you kneels to your level. If you could see him, you would almost laugh at the irony. "Do you not understand? I would _never_ hurt you!" The hand wraps around you again, but you hide the fear this time, remaining motionless. You feel the reverberations of the thunderous voice and cannot help opening your eyes. His optics stare into yours, and you can't escape the feeling that he _knows_. "Sam. Will you stand with us?" You force your eyes to meet his. There is nothing else you can do now. "What else would I do?"

**Kinda dark, but a lot of it came from an idea inspired by Gandalf's line, "Understand, Frodo. I would use this Ring from a desire to do good, but through me it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine".**

* * *

Authority

"I fail to see the issue here," June said calmly. Too calmly. General Bryce tended to think of himself as a brave man, a rational man. Still, the icy disregard in this woman's eyes was sending him into a cold sweat. Dimly, he remembered his grandmother, long ago, saying to him, "Timothy, it's better to meet a bear robbed of her cubs than a fool in his folly." Well, here he was, and he was fairly certain that he was a fool in his folly staring down a pretty angry mother bear. "Mrs. Darby," he began, proud of himself for not stuttering, "Surely you can agree that to allow children anywhere _near_ these beings is at the very least irresponsible!" She didn't bat an eyelash. "And so you thought you'd do us all a favor and separate them from their guardians." She shifted her weight back and crossed her arms. "You do realize, of course, that you removed Jack from his home without a warrant. That's kidnapping, General."

"Kidnapping?!" he blustered, "It's called protective custody! Those machines sent your son out into a potentially unstable mine to do what? Collect "energon"?" "Every family has chores, General. Why should ours be any different?" she answered coolly. She moved forward and General Bryce found himself backing down before her steely gaze. "Now, are you going to release the children? I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the Autobots are on the warpath about this." Sweating profusely, the man tried to hold his ground, he really did. "Two of those three are American citizens, Mrs. Darby, just as you are, and I don't think you-" "No, you didn't think." she snaps. He is cowed into silence as she advances once more. "What you fail to realize is that when your government gave Outpost Omega to the Autobots, they created an embassy for them. That is not American soil anymore. Jack, Miko, Rafael, even I have been living there long enough to consider it home."

Her scowl deepened and Bryce began idly wondering whether he ought to have made a will before coming into the office that day. "My kids don't answer to you, _General_. We are, as witnessed by the President, officially Cybertronian citizens." She stalked to the window and raised the blinds. Bryce was no longer simply nervous. Oh no, he was, as he remembered a Muppet saying once, "somewhere between bedwetting and a near-death experience." He didn't have to guess who was going to be standing outside that window. Five sets of angry blue optics shone in on him. At least their leader seemed to be restraining them from actually attacking the building, but he was clearly as displeased as his soldiers. "Taking the children was a bad move." he stated flatly. General Bryce could not help but agree. Shaking, he pressed a button on the intercom at his desk. "Security, bring the Darby, Nakadai, and Esquivel kids to my office immediately," he gulped.

Optimus Prime stared down the government official levelly. "If we are to be allies, General, there must be _trust_ between us," he said firmly. "Neither I nor any of my people would ever consider marching into one of your homes or towns and removing your children because we did not feel that you were raising them adequately. It goes against all we stand for. Is it then, too much to ask for the same courtesy?" Bryce barely managed to shake his head no. "I-i-i w-w-was just doing w-w-what I thought was b-b-best!" he squeaked, somewhat pathetically. The Prime tilted his helm to the side, and suddenly seemed more sympathetic. "I understand that you believed the children were in danger. That you acted so quickly on what you believed was their behalf is admirable. You might, however, have avoided all this had you come to us with your concerns first."

Bryce supposed he should have felt relieved that the massive alien beings did not seem to blame him personally for this debacle. Still, there in even the Prime's optics was the same glint of death and danger that had so unnerved him in the eyes of June Darby. If he had been a parent himself, perhaps he would have understood it better. The three humans at the heart of the fiasco burst into the room and were swept into the nurse's arms. "General." You didn't ignore that voice anymore than you ignored an earthquake. Optimus bent closer to the window to look him in the eye. "Understand that I do not hold this against you or your country. But in the future, I advise you to remember that as long as Mrs. Darby and the children live under my roof, they are under the authority of the Primes, _not_ your government. If it is their individual reconnaissance missions that disturb you, you needn't worry. Each of us would rather die than place a human in harm's way." He turned to go, then stopped and faced the general once more. "That includes you, you know."

It was close to half an hour before Bryce's heart rate returned to normal. He would not make the mistake of interfering with the Autbots' family structure again. Still, terrifying though the ordeal had been, he found himself admiring the aliens for their commitment to even the smallest members of their society. He chuckled suddenly when he found himself thinking that there were some politicians he knew who could stand to learn a thing or two from their alien allies. Abruptly, his phone rang. "General Bryce," he said, resuming his no-nonsense voice. "_Sir, this is Conrad Hauser._" Bryce raised an eyebrow. The disgraced sergeant that General Abernathy was after? Well that should be interesting. "Duke," he greeted the man, "Been awhile. You and that team of yours still running from the law?" In the background of the call, he could hear another voice shout, "_Aw for crying out loud! Not him too. We didn't do anything!"_

Hauser spoke again. "_Sir, I know this is asking a lot, but my team needs a place to stay, just for a few days." _He didn't sound hopeful. Bryce didn't blame him. The memory of warm blue optics filled his mind and his decision was made. "Tell you what, Joes," he said, "I know a place you can go if you aren't scared of giants." The relief was evident in Duke's voice. "_Really sir? You could get in trouble for helping us, you know._" Bryce leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Someone's got to stand up for the little guy, Hauser. I promise, you're going to find that someone real soon."

**Yes, I did just cross over with G.I. Joe: Renegades at the end. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**You never know when a plot bunny will strike...**

**This is what happens if you listen to the Tarzan soundtrack when you are introduced to Optimus Primal.**

**This is a long one, btw, so this will be the only one in this chapter.**

* * *

Heartbeat

_Breathe._

_One, two. One, two. One, two._

_Breathe._

Miko rocked back and forth, curled tightly into a ball. If ever she found a way home, she would never run through a Ground Bridge alone again. This was the ninth day: she had been counting. In the hollow of the tree she now called home, lines had been scored into the bark to represent her accidental exile. Everything there was massive. The trees alone are tall enough to make even the Autobots look small! On the third day, hunger had outweighed caution and she discovered which fruits were edible and which were not. On the upside, she did not starve. On the downside, she was now aware that she could smell the color purple.

There were predators here, she knew this. She'd seen wasps as big as airplanes, heard the dry, scratching sounds of monstrous arachnids skittering around her tree. Once, Miko even saw a dinosaur. An honest-to-goodness Tyrannosaurus Rex. She hadn't expected it to be purple, but at least she could smell it coming. At night, sometimes she could see the glow of fires. On her first night there, she'd sought the lights out, hoping for human contact. The long cut on her shoulder she'd received from the feral people quickly taught her to avoid them. The girl had found a hollow in a massive tree, high above the ground. It had seemed a good place to hide, and now she had been there for nine days. Nine days without any sign of the Autobots.

Who was she kidding? They probably didn't even know where she was.

Miko heard the soft _skritch skritch skritch_ of the giant spider, circling her tree again. It knew she was there. For the past two nights it had been trying to figure out how to get to her. Miko shut her eyes and returned to her coping mechanism. _Breathe. One, two. One, two. One, two. Breathe._ All at once, the bark shivered as if the tree itself was revolted. The spider had begun to climb. _Onetwo onetwo onetwo Breathe, Miko, Breathe._ Mutely, she rocked back and forth, hands clasped over her mouth. Of all the things to find her, it had to be a spider. A hideous head appeared at the opening of the hollow and silence was forgotten. She screamed, long and shrill.

The foul creature was only able to fit one of its segmented legs into the hold, but it certainly did its best to grab the girl, hissing all the while. Miko dove out of the way and scrambled back and forth, cornered. "Bulkhead!" she shrieked, but there was no Wrecker to come to her rescue this time. She pressed herself as far into the wall as she could and watched the spider's clawed leg flail about just centimeters from her torso. Her breath came in ragged sobs, as she recognized that the moment she couldn't hold her position any longer, the spider would grab her. Suddenly, the beast let out a squeal of pain as a throaty roar echoed through the forest. The spider was pulled backwards so quickly that it appeared to be flying. Miko squeezed her eyes shut and remained frozen, even as she heard the sounds of a titanic battle taking place outside the tree.

She thought she heard a voice speaking, and she was certain the words were Cybertronian. She opened one teary eye to see another eye peering in at her. She yelped and covered her head as a huge brown hand, covered in fur, reached in and plucked her from the hollow. Miko curled into a fetal position once more as she found herself in the warm, wrinkled palm of the largest gorilla she had ever seen. _Breathe. One, two. One, two. One, two. Breathe._ It was probably the same size as King Kong. Heck, for all she knew, it _was _King Kong! The giant primate sat down with an earthshaking thud and examined the tiny creature in his palm. He hooted softly and prodded the girl with one thick finger. She whimpered and curled into a tighter ball. What was this little being? It certainly wasn't full grown. It didn't _look_ like a bird, yet it came out of a nest.

The gorilla held his prize up to his face to examine it. "Don't eat me!" Miko squeaked. She was suddenly held away from the ape's face as it grunted in fascination. So it could vocalize! He had no idea, of course, what it was saying. It appeared to be some sort of infant babble. Gently, he touched the strange two-toned fur on the tiny thing's head. She flinched at first, then when she realized that the huge beast wasn't going to hurt her, leaned into the touch. It was nice to have some kind of friendly contact. Miko dried her eyes and peered up at the gorilla. "You saved me from that spider-thing, didn't you?" she asked, awe filling her voice. The golden-brown eyes softened and the wide mouth creased into a smile. Gradually, the hand holding the human sloped upward until she found herself on her back in a turtle-like position. "Um..." she gave him a quizzical look.

Again the creature hooted softly and poked her stomach gently, eyes squinched with a cheerful look. Miko couldn't help the giggle that burst from her lips. "Hey!" she laughed, "No tickling!" The gorilla grinned widely and poked her again. Once more, the human squeaked with laughter and tried to squirm away. Satisfied that the helpless chick wasn't frightened anymore, the gorilla stood to his feet, one fist planted on the ground. Carefully, he deposited his little charge onto his shoulder as he had seen mother apes do with their young. It couldn't be _that _hard, he told himself. Miko tried to cling to the thick fur, but soon slipped off and landed in the quickly raised palm with a smack. She lay there dazed for a moment. Well that wasn't going to work. The gorilla sighed and resigned himself to walking on three limbs the whole way home.

He held Miko to his chest as he made his way through the forest at a steady clip. Lulled by the warmth of her rescuer's fur and the rhythm of their pace, Miko's eyes closed and she found herself listening to the ape's heartbeat. Only, something wasn't right. She frowned and listened harder. No, she wasn't mistaken. The pulse was coming from the _center_ of the gorilla's chest, not the _left_. Her eyes flew open and she pressed her ear to the fur, listening intently. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ Miko's tiny fingers gripped the brown fur tightly as she realized what she was hearing. Not a heartbeat.

A spark.

Optimus Primal hummed reassuringly to the tiny being in his hand. "Don't worry, little one," he murmured in Cybertronian, "Rhinox will make sure Tarantulas didn't hurt you when we get back to base. You're going to be alright now, little chick. I promise." The mighty Maximal continued to croon Cybertronian nursery rhymes and nonsense songs to the funny little squishy thing that seemed so interested in his sparkbeat all the way back to the rest of his team. And maybe Rattrap laughed at him for behaving in such a manner, but one blink of the chick's wide brown eyes soon had the rodent entranced as well. Cheetor kept trying to steal the little one from Primal, to his annoyance. He was bound and determined that her first word was going to be "Cheetor is awesome." Rhinox pointed out that this was actually _three _words, but the young Maximal hardly noticed.

Miko was with the Maximals for three months before the day came when a Ground Bridge opened in the jungle. Cheetor had been wandering through the trees with Little Chick on his back when the glowing light appeared. "Chee! Chee, see?" Little Chick seemed very excited, drumming her heels into his sides. "Yeah, I see it," he said. "What is it?" "Cheeeeeee!" she whined as the cheetah backed away from the light. "No, Chick! Airazor would have my hide if something happened to you on my watch!" he scolded. "No 'Wayzaw, Chee." she pouted. "Awbaht." Cheetor blinked. That was her new word, "awbaht". She said it all the time now, but no one actually knew what she was saying. Out of the vortex, a huge, green Cybetronian appeared. Cheetor yelped and jumped back. The mech's formatting was the same as the Maximals' ancient Autobot ancestors!

The stranger's optics lit up the moment he caught sight of Little Chick. He cried out something in the same baby babble that the littlest Maximal was so well known for. She tried to climb off of Cheetor's back to answer. "Oh no you don't!" the young Maximal transformed and caught her in one hand. "We're going back to Big Bot and the crew. They can sort this out." "_No!" _Oh joy. Her _other_ favorite word. The intruder's jaw dropped when he heard the human speak in Cybertronian. "Miko?" he asked tentatively. "What's a miko?" asked Cheetor. "ME!" Little Chick yelled triumphantly. She pointed at the green warrior. "Awbaht! See, Chee? Awbaht!" Suddenly, the cheetah realized what she meant. "Autobot? Are you trying to say Autobot?" She nodded eagerly. Cheetor looked up at the Autobot. "How is this even possible?" The burly mech shrugged. "Ya got me. The name's Bulkhead: I'm here to take Miko home."

"But...but she _is_ home!" Cheetor pulled the human close and frowned. Little Chick—or rather, Miko—twisted in her Maximal friend's grip to face him. "Chee," she said softly, "Love Chee, Love 'Wayzaw. Love Pwima." she wrinkled her nose in thought, "Love Whinock, otay wif Wattwap. No like Spidey," She pointed at Bulkhead. "Love Bulk." Bulkhead stepped forward. "In our time, I'm her guardian," he explained, "She has a home, a family, and we've been looking for her for months." It was a reality that Primal had warned them they might face the day he'd brought Little Chick—er, Miko—home. That she might have a family somewhere looking for her. "But...we're her family too..." Cheetor trailed off miserably. Sympathy filled the other mech's optics. "Yeah, you are," he acknowledged, "but she has to go back to her own people."

Cheetor called the other Maximals, who were just as astonished as he had been to meet a living, functioning Autobot. Bulkhead, for his part, was equally surprised to meet the descendants of his people, not to mention a descendant of Optimus Prime. "Well, I guess this means somewhere along the line, Prime's gonna have a kid," he muttered, not sure if the notion was comforting or very strange. The Maximals tried to keep a stiff upper lip for Miko's sake as they bid her farewell. "We shall miss you, Little Chick," Silverbolt said sadly. Airazor swept her into a hug. "Bye bye, Baby Bird," she whispered. Miko giggled. "Bye Bye, Wayzaw." She turned to the next Maximal. "Wattwap!" Rattrap ruffled her hair. "Ah, I'm gonna miss ya, kid. Go ahead, go grow up," he made a shooing motion and feigned a coughing fit to hide an un-mechly tear. Rhinox blew a kiss to the exuberant youngling, and Cheetor very nearly had to have her pried from his hands.

At last, it was Optimus's turn to say goodbye. He didn't say anything at first: he merely held her to his chest so she could hear his sparkbeat. Miko smiled up at him and wiped a tear from her eye. She patted his spark chamber. "I right here," she said solemnly. She tugged at one of his fingers until it pointed to her heart. "You right dere," she finished and beamed. Primal kissed the top of her head. "That's right, Chick. If you ever start to miss us, you can listen to your sparkbeat. That'll be me, saying hello." The Autobot chuckled. "You are _definitely_ related to Optimus," he remarked as he took Miko from Primal. The girl leaned out over his servos, waving to them all. "Bye, Mammals!" Silverbolt winced and smiled lopsidedly. "She never did learn to say Maximal," he reflected as they disappeared into the Ground Bridge. "Aw, cut her some slack," Blackarachnia elbowed him, "They say "m" sounds are the hardest for babies."

The Maximals never forgot their youngest member, and when two of the little hairless two-legs wandered into their base one day, no one was surprised when Cheetor befriended them. For her part, Miko didn't run through anymore Ground Bridges without someone accompanying her. Getting stuck was one thing, but getting stuck alone was quite another! Sometimes, Jack would see her staring off into space, with a hand pressed to her heart. She taught the boys what little Cybertronian she had learned, and soon the base was filled with the same kind of giggles she'd often inspired as "Little Chick" by the complete butchering of a word. Then again, Bumblebee probably taught Rafael to say "Hatchet" instead of "Ratchet" on purpose.

**Written because I think if humans tried to learn Cybertronian, they would sound like toddlers. And it would be weird and adorable at the same time.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome back! May your day be blessed, as mine has been.**

**Just real quick: ****_"text"= _****English. **"text"**= Cybertronian**

Reversal

In the Iacon central Archives, a young figure bent over an unresponsive data kiosk, muttering some highly uncomplimentary things. Did the Senate think technology ran on smiles and positivity? Would it kill them to grant the Archives some new kiosks? He gave the console a vicious kick, at which point the screen finally flickered to life. "Hi Orion!" The unexpected greeting nearly sent the youngling over the edge of his cubicle. "By the Allspark, Ariel! Don't _do_ that!" The boisterous pink femme giggled and punched him lightly. Orion Pax glanced around guiltily. "You're not supposed to be here while I'm working!" he hissed to his femmefriend, "What if Alpha Trion sees you?" Ariel rolled her optics. "So what if he sees me? Don't be such a sire's sparkling, Orion."

Orion huffed and turned back to his kiosk. "Come _onnnn_!" Ariel pleaded, tugging his arm, "Arcee and Bumblebee found a way down into the canyons this morning! Aren't you just the least bit curious about what's down there?" In truth, Orion _was_ very curious about the Sonic Canyons, which the Senate had suddenly declared to be off-limits to civilians. He wasn't at all surprised that Arcee had found a way in: that femme was obsessed with exploring. And of course, wherever Arcee went, she was probably going to drag her little cousin Bumblebee along. Poor kid was just a sparkling, really. Orion suspected that she kept him around so that whenever they got caught they could play on the guards' sympathies. Orion Pax had been raised to be a responsible mech: responsible to his Academy work, to his job, and to Alpha Trion. Still, there were times when adventure seemed to yell in his face, "You're missing your chance!" He sighed and switched off the kiosk. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered.

Orion and Ariel met the others at the northernmost edge of the Sonic Canyons, where Bumblebee said he'd found a blind spot. The four young ones slipped under a laser fence (with some difficulty for Orion, who was going to be _huge_ when he grew up) and began to climb down the sheer walls. Suddenly, Ariel lost her grip and slipped. She tumbled down the slope, landing on a ledge some distance below. "Ariel! Are you okay?" Arcee whispered as loud as she dared. The dazed femme held up a dented hand and waved it to signal that she was. "Take it slow, guys. I'll go first," Orion muttered. Carefully, he let himself slide down the rock face. At an oil slick's pace, the other two followed. "I'm _not_ going to say I told you so," the red mech whispered as he helped Ariel to sit up. "Shut up, Pax," she growled playfully.

Little Bumblebee climbed down from Arcee's shoulders and peered over the ledge. "Wasp said he saw a _giant_ in here!" he gulped. Arcee snorted. "Wasp would say rust was white and energon was brown if he thought it'd get him some attention," she said scornfully. When they reached the canyon floor, three of the four transformed into vehicle mode, with Bumblebee riding on top of Orion. (He was too young yet to transform.) "Well," the sparkling spoke up, "I don't s'pose there's any harm in checking out where Wasp said he saw the giant, is there?" Ariel pulled ahead of him and swiveled to drive backwards. "Sounds like it's gonna _rock!_ Let's do it!" A blue two-wheeler sped past her. "You are _so_ joining the Allspark early," Arcee laughed. Wisely, the young mechs stayed out of the miniature cat-fight that ensued, even if it was only in fun.

Before an hour had passed, they found themselves in a box canyon. "Now what?" Arcee asked. The others shrugged. Suddenly, the ground beneath their pedes shook. "What was that?!" Ariel gasped, steadying herself. "Something _big_ is coming!" Bumblebee answered. A fiendish grin lit Ariel's faceplate. "Awesome." Orion quickly realized what was about to happen. "Oh scrap," he sighed, yet did not resist when the pink femme grabbed his servos and dragged him along behind her. Round the bend in the canyon, they stopped in their tracks, utterly dumbfounded. Whatever they were looking at, it was easily as big as Trypticon, bipedal, and covered in some sort of bio-organic armor. It was shaped like a femme and wielded a cannon that could probably take out three buildings in one shot. Her opponent looked to be a mech, also covered in the bio-organic material.

He swung some sort of club at the giant femme, knocking her backwards into the canyon wall. Arcee and Bumblebee caught up with Ariel and Orion and their mouths dropped open as they watched the battle. The femme picked herself up and swung the cannon like a bludgeon with a harsh cry. The mech roared in pain and clapped a hand to his forehead where a sludgy red energon-like substance was beginning to leak through the bio-organic covering. Infuriated, he caught the smaller creature by the throat and pinned her to the wall. "No!" Orion shouted, "Leave her alone!" "Pick on someone your own size!" Ariel backed him up. The massive being looked down at the tiny Cybertronians and laughed. That was all the distraction the femme needed. She kicked both legs up and wrapped them around the mech's neck, flipping him over and down into the canyon floor with a crash.

"Miko, requesting backup!" she held a hand to her audial fin as if coming somebot. "I've got a rogue Breaker in the canyons...and I may have inadvertently made contact with the local life forms." The air around the canyon shimmered like a mirage and a high musical tone reverberated through the atmosphere. Out of the wavering images, three more giants appeared. One was a broad-shouldered mech with a huge cannon slung over one shoulder. His bio-organic armor was a darker color than the femme's and the strange wires on top of his helm were much closer to the head than hers. The second was a smaller mech wielding a pair of pistols. He had some kind of clear visor over his optics. The third was the tallest of all of them. It was clearly a mech, but he wore normal armor over his bio-organic covering and had what looked like a beard covering most of his faceplate. Stern blue optics twinkled slightly when he looked down at the five younglings.

"Sorry, Jochanan," the one called Miko sighed, "Didn't mean to break Priority One." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "It could not be helped. Were you injured?" Miko shook her helm. "Nah, nothing worth troubling June over." Jochanan nodded. He looked down at the unmoving attacker. "Archangels, containment and cleanup. The natives don't need to find this one." The small one and the big one knelt next to the prone mech to examine him. "This guy's still alive, Jochanan," the broad-shouldered one proclaimed. "Good. Fowler, Rafael, transport him back to base: he has much to answer for." The two giants saluted and appeared to shimmer out of existence with their captive. Miko stretched, then bent over to look at the awestruck younglings. "Thanks for distracting the Breaker, guys," she said. "Oh my Primus, its talking to us!" Arcee squeaked. The two giants glanced at each other in amusement. "Little Ones," Jochanan said softly, "This is a dangerous place for you. If the Deceivers find you here, you will be killed."

"What should we do?" Miko whispered to him, "We can't leave them here now that they've seen us." The bearded mech shook his helm. "No, we cannot. Should the Breaker have managed to contact his brethren before capture, as is standard Deceiver procedure, then the others will be aware of your young allies. We will take them back to base with us." The huge creature knelt to be closer to the Cybertronians. "What are you?" Orion gaped. "We are Human Beings from the planet Earth," the rolling timbre answered, "Some call us Archangels. I am Jochanan Judge, and this is my first officer, Mikoto." The femme winked and saluted. "I'm Ariel!" Orion's femmefriend piped up, "And that's Arcee, Bumblebee, and my mechfriend Orion. Are you bigger than Trypticon? Can you swim in the Rust Sea? How tall _are _you?" Jochanan chuckled at her incessant questions and turned to Miko. "Now, who does she remind you of?"

"Shut up, Judge," she smirked. Miko reached down and scooped Ariel and Arcee into her strange servos. Jochanan lifted Orion and Bumblebee into his. It was an utterly foreign feeling. The covering on his servos wasn't metal that they could see, and it was _warm_. Orion felt the sensation of coming faceplate to faceplate with something wholly _other_, and yet felt no fear. The young mech looked up at the strange face above him. "So," he began as the two giants prepared for transport, "Are you a judicial leader of some kind on your world? I've never heard of a judge that battled before." Jochanan Judge smiled. "No, youngling. "Judge" is the name for the rank I hold, rather like "Prime" on this world," he explained. The world around them seemed to fade away, and was replaced by a huge cavern that had once been a mine. The other two Archangels from before stood waiting with another femme, this one a good bit older than the others. "Mother," Jochanan said politely, dipping his head. "Cybertronians?" the woman yelped, "Jack, you can't have Cybertronians in the base! _Look_ how small they are!" She scowled at the four. "If they were to get underfoot, they would go _crunch!" _

"Then for the time being," the Archangel leader said wisely, "We must all watch where we step." "_**Whoa, boss! They really are tiny! Especially the yellow one. Wow, he looks like he's just a baby!**_" The one with the visor peered down at Bumblebee with interest. "I'm not a baby!" the sparkling protested. Orion stared at him. "How...how do you know what he's saying?" The little yellow mech shrugged. "I dunno, I just do, I guess." Jochanan smiled. "This is Rafael, our scout. He seems to like you, Bumblebee." He introduced the other two as Fowler, their demolitions expert, and June, their medic. June _harumphed_ and turned back to her screen. "Don't let her get to you," Miko whispered to Arcee and Ariel, "She's a total softie once you get to know her!" The younglings were deposited onto a catwalk where they might converse with the Archangels at optic-level. "What are you all doing on our planet?" Orion asked softly. Pained looks crossed the giants' faces.

"A fair question, Orion. In part, we are here because our planet is uninhabitable and ravaged by millennia of civil war.," Jochanan replied quietly, "Foremost, it was fought over our world's supply of water, both the fuel and the matter that sustains all Humans. In the beginning, I fought alongside one I considered a father. But in war, ideals can be corrupted, and it was thus that Silas Bloodhand chose his path." Ariel yawned and leaned her helm on Orion's shoulder. "Will there be a test on this?" she joked. Arcee shushed her quickly and climbed up on the rail, hoping to hear more. "So, what does Silas, or any of this, have to do with us?" she asked. The Judge's eyes hardened. "Silas has not been seen nor heard from in some time, but if his return is imminent, as I fear..." His voice grew soft for a moment and the young femme strained to hear him. "It would be catastrophic. I could not bear to see Earth's fate befall Cybertron. We will fight until our last breath to protect this world."

Suddenly Orion jolted. "Oh scrap!" he groaned, "Look how late it is!" he was staring at the chronometer on June's screen. The red youngling grimaced. "Great. Alpha Trion's going to have the Elite Guard out looking for us!" The Archangels blinked in confusion. "Why?" Jochanan asked, "Have you broken a law?" The younglings shook their helms. "A curfew, actually," the archivist-in-training rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly. Bumblebee nodded. "Yeah, I better go home too. If Carrier catches me missing, I'll be grounded for _ever_!" Jochanan tilted his head and stroked his beard. "Cybertron customs I hadn't considered, but the issue of you safety remains. You have learned of our existence, and may well be percieved by the Deceivers as allies of ours. I cannot allow you to leave unprotected."

He turned to the first officer. "Miko, accompany Ariel home and maintain covert surveillance in camouflage mode." The woman picked Ariel up and placed her on her shoulder. "Curbside duty, got it." She twisted a dial on her wrist, and the two vanished with a musical sound. "Rafael," Jochanan continued, "You will watch over Bumblebee." The tiny mech beamed up at the young human, who returned his smile and whistled cheerfully. "Fowler, you will be young Arcee's guardian." The heavy fighter shrugged. "Well, you're the boss." He held out a hand to the two-wheeler. "C'mere, kid." One by one, the Archangels and their charges disappeared from the base to take them home, leaving Orion alone with June and Jochanan. Orion shuffled his pedes awkwardly, unsure of what to say. The leader of the Archangels regarded him silently for a moment, then held a hand out to him. Gingerly, the youngling complied, climbing over the railing. _**"Are you sure about this, Jack?" **_June asked in the short, sharp sounds that made up the Human language. _**"You have enough responsibilities already as Judge without having one of the natives to look after. It could distract you!"**_

Jochanan had already walked to the transport pad carrying Orion when he turned to answer the medic. _**"You managed well enough when I was a child," **_he said evenly, _**"I cannot help but feel this is something I must do." **_June was not happy, but she did not contradict him. Orion guessed by their tones that they were talking about him. Guiltily, he pulled his armor close to his body and said nothing. When they materialized outside the Archives, with Jochanan Judge wearing a perception filter, Orion was gently placed on the ground. "I will remain here until I am certain that there is no immediate threat," the mighty warrior murmured. "Good night, young Orion. I shall see you tomorrow." Orion shuttered his optics in surprise. "T-tomorrow?" The Human smiled sadly at him. "You have become involved in something far larger than you yet understand, little one. I'm afraid you are not out of danger yet." Shaken, Orion slipped inside and made his way to his kiosk. Alpha Trion was waiting for him. "Orion Pax," he said sternly, "Just where have you been, young mech?" Dissatisfied with the stuttered ramblings coming from his young charge, the old scribe shook his helm. "So help me, youngling, if I find out you went to hear that upstart Megatronus speak again..."

**And so it begins...**

**('u') that was more fun than it ought to have been to write...**

**Inspired by looking at the windowsill full of Transformers and realizing that compared to them, I was Cybertronian-sized.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm baaaaack! **

**Today at work I encountered a young one who was very nearly Mowgli, and he inspired this "what-if" because he got me thinking about The Jungle Book (Rudyard Kipling's, not Disney's)**

The Council

Surprisingly, it was Ironhide who mentioned it first. He'd been parked in the Lennox's back yard, getting a thorough wash and wax from Will and Sarah. Annabelle was too little to help: she sat in her booster seat inside the Autobot and watched her parents with bright eyes. Sarah leaned back and wiped her brow. "Yikes. We're going to be cleaning sand out of you for _weeks_!" she grumbled good-naturedly. "We were in Egypt! Did you expect me to come home smelling like petunias?" the old warrior grunted. Sarah's eyes softened. "I'm just glad you came home, Ironhide." She smiled up at Will, letting him know that he was not left out of the statement. The black truck settled slightly on its wheels, allowing the humans to continue—although in all fairness, more water got on Will than on Ironhide in the end. By the time the sun had begun to set, the air had turned chilly. "Come on, boys," Sarah opened the passenger side door and deftly extracted a sleeping Annabelle. "You two finish up out here while I put the munchkin to bed." She left her husband with the truck-that-wasn't-a-truck, knowing in her heart that they needed the time to talk.

Will slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. He leaned back with a loud sigh. "Heck of a week, 'Hide." The Chevy hummed in reply and the interior warmed around the still slightly damp soldier. "How ya holdin' up, Will?" Ironhide asked through the radio. Will laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "My own country tried to hand a _kid_ over to Megatron. T'o't _died_, and N.E.S.T was temporarily disbanded by Our Friend the Maggot." The truck vibrated with suppressed humor at the soldiers' nickname for Galloway. Lennox grew quiet. "Would you really have left if they ordered you to?" he asked. Ironhide did not answer for a long time. When Lennox began to fidget, he finally said, "Optimus would say yes, so I guess I'd have to go too." Before Will had the chance to be properly discouraged by the words, the Autobot continued, "But I'd kidnap you and the girls before I left." Both soldiers found themselves amused by the idea and lapsed into silence. Will leaned back in the seat, gazing up at the stars through the windshield. "I had another dream about Egypt last night, 'Hide," he said softly. There wasn't much that could be said to that. Nothing _needed _to be said. If anyone understood the feeling that comes after a major battle, it was Ironhide.

"It's just going to get worse, isn't it?" Will shifted restlessly. "The war, I mean." The cab of the truck warmed a bit more. "Aw, Will," the rough voice trailed off. "I don't know, I really don't." There was silence for a while longer, then the human muttered, "Egypt was almost worth it to see how fast Galloway backed down when T'o't came back." Ironhide snorted. "You kiddin' me? When he heard how Our Friend the Maggot treated you and N.E.S.T and Sam, he was _livid_!" Then, more to himself than to Will, "Thank Primus the Meeting of the Ways is coming." Lennox blinked. "The Meeting of the what?" Ironhide struggled to think of a way to explain the Meeting of the Ways to his human friend, but couldn't find the words. "Ask Sam," was all he said. Will got nothing more out of him save that it was some kind of temporary truce. After that, the soldier kept his ears open and caught several other Autobots on the base referring to the Meeting of the Ways. Whenever he asked about it, however, they never seemed able to find the right words or phrases to explain themselves. Eventually, Lennox broke down and went to see Witwicky.

Since Egypt, the kid seemed more jittery than ever, if that was even possible. It wasn't the usual, immature rambling anymore: now he would seize on a subject and read everything there was to know about it in a matter of days, filing it away in his brain for future reference. Sometimes, Will would see him reading three or more books at once, scribbling glyphs in the margins. "I'm like the Rain Man!" he'd declared once with a wide grin. While this meant he could hold intelligent conversations with Ratchet, it made conversing with humans a little odd every now and then. When Lennox found him to ask about the Meeting of the Ways, the boy was standing in a dark room, surrounded by screens covered in glyphs. Sam was whistling what might have been mistaken for a complex piece of music at first. It was actually a mimicry of Cybertronian vocal patterns, known to the soldiers on base as a way to convey meaning without the risk of eavesdroppers. For Sam, it was a way to take notes.

He spared Will a brief glance and a friendly wave before returning to his screens. "Silver Age historical theory," he said shortly, "Weird stuff. I think I've made it up to a second-grade level understanding." The older man stared at the dizzying monitors and shook his head. "Riiight. Hey, kid, ever hear of something called the Meeting of the Ways?" Sam's eyes lit up...literally. The faint blue glow that appeared whenever the boy accessed the information left by the shard of the Allspark was eerie enough in a well-lit room. In the dark, it was downright unnerving. When the light faded, Sam paused the lesson on the screens and turned to face Lennox. "It's kind of a holiday, I think. Once every four hundred years or so, by the reckoning of humans anyway, there's this day when they remember the creation of their race. They're not allowed to fight on that day, not even the Decepticons." Sam stretched, popping a few vertebrae back into place. "Surprisingly, no one has ever broken that rule! They all meet together for some kind of council thingy they call the Meeting of the Ways."

He glanced at his watch. "I think it's actually happening this month, in case you're curious. Optimus knows more than me, of course. You should ask him!" He cheerfully waved the soldier on and returned to the lesson, roundly cursing the Cybertronian sages of the Silver Age for their convoluted theories. In the main hangar, Optimus stood watchfully over the new recruits. He appeared to be occupied with the task of gently correcting Private Darby in the way he held his rifle when Lennox arrived. The young soldier nervously changed his grip on the weapon and stuttered apologies. "It's alright," the Autobot reassured him kindly, "You'll get used to it." He shifted his weight and looked down at Lennox. "William," he greeted the man warmly, "is there something I can help you with?" The human shook his head. "It can wait, T'o't. I can see you're busy." Optimus smiled, as he always did when the soldiers called him T'o't, and nodded his helm. "We are nearly finished here. I will meet you outside afterwards."

Optimus found Lennox on the beach of Diego Garcia, leaning against a hastily-erected fence. "Sam tells me you have been asking about the Meeting of the Ways? What would you like to know?" he rumbled inquisitively. Will glanced up. "Just wondering how it's going to work down here, I guess." "A fair question, William. Particularly as I would like for humans to attend the Council this Meeting." The warrior smiled sadly. "It may be your only chance to do so, for the Meeting of the Ways does not come often." Morosely, Will nodded. "What's going to happen, exactly? Sam didn't really say what goes on at one of these things." With a groaning of stressed metal, Optimus seated himself on the sand next to Lennox. "It is the one time when my brother and I interact as we did before the War," he said solemnly. "When he plays the part of Lord High Protector and I am the unquestioned Prime. That is when we settle disputes amongst faction members, when hatchlings are named and blessed, and when couples unite in marriage." It sounded bizarre to Lennox to simply pretend that the War didn't exist for a moment until he remembered something similar happening one Christmas Day during World War II.

The rest of the month passed agonizingly slowly for humans and Autobots alike until the week of the Meeting of the Ways arrived. By the unusually polite request of the Decepticons, Stonehenge was set as the gathering place and the local humans were warned away. At Optimus's insistence, Lennox, Epps and Sam joined the Autobots. The red and blue mech raised his fist for silence, calling out, "Look well, O Cybertron." The call was repeated and echoed around the circle: "Look well, O Cybertron!" Epps leaned over to whisper to his friend, "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't an Entmoot, that's for sure!" The pronouncement was fairly accurate. To the ears of a human, it takes a long time to say anything in Old Cybertronian, the language traditionally used by the Autobots and Decepticons for the opening ceremonies of the Meeting of the Ways. Every mech and femme was called forward to give their name and an account of their actions since the previous Meeting. These were stated calmly, almost expressionlessly, by friend and foe alike.

After seven hours of introductions, the language switched to English once more. Starscream brought seventeen Decepticon hatchlings to the center of the circle to be blessed—a ceremonial task usually performed by the Prime. One of the wriggling creatures clamped its tiny jaws down on Starscream's servos, growling fiercly. Optimus paused and turned an amused look to Megatron. "Yours?" he asked blandly. The warlord shrugged with a lopsided smile. When each of the little terrors had received a benediction and a designation, matters moved on to interfactional justice. The humans watched in astonishment as each case was called to the center of the circle and Megatron himself dealt with them sternly but wisely. The night became day, and drew on into evening once more. Will slept through a great deal of the proceedings. Near the third day, Sam was called into the circle and the Council doubled as a school examination for the boy and several young Decepticons as they were thoroughly quizzed on the history of Cybertron and the origin of the Meeting of the Ways. Even the Decepticons were impressed with the amount of information the human had retained. Perhaps not all squishies were bad.

At last, as the moon rose, Megatron raised a hand for silence. "Look well, O Cybertron," the harsh voice echoed. "We see, O Megatron," the assembled Cybertronians replied. Optimus motioned to the humans to come to the middle of the circle. "At this Council, we find ourselves guests on a planet inhabited by a sentient species that is making a conscious effort to understand us," he intoned. "As such, I feel it only right to include the humans in the Council." Soundwave rose to his pedes. "Objection!" he cried, "They are too young a species! Are we to tolerate sparklings advising our behavior?" Protests and agreements began to rise from the crowd, and Lennox did his best not to fidget. He caught Ironhide sending him a sympathetic look. "Do you propose to exclude the humans altogether, Soundwave?" Optimus asked mildly, "They do not reckon age as we do." The Decepticon looked uncomfortable. "I do not ask that we keep them uninformed, O Optimus son of Prima," he said humbly, "Only think how the humans have acted towards us thus far!"

"I have thought on the matter," Optimus replied gravely, "And it is the best course of action that I see. Only recently, I returned from the Long Journey. If it had not been for the very humans you see before you, there should have been no Prime to lead the Meeting of the Ways this night." Beside him, Megatron shifted awkwardly at the mention of his brother's death at his hands. "Brother, consider," he rasped. "Let us include the humans, by all means, only let them be accompanied by a recognized warrior when speaking, as all younglings must." Optimus frowned. "They are not children, incapable of making their own decisions!" he argued. Megatron raised his hands placatingly. "Is it not victory enough to have them accepted into the Council? Do the human soldiers not call you Father already? Then let them behave as though they were your children." In the center of the ring, Sam had begun to fidget a little. Epps quickly put a hand on his arm to stop him. _Best behavior_ he mouthed to him with an ironic look. Above them, Optimus called for a vote on the matter. The "ayes" outweighed the "nays" by twenty hands, and the decision was made. "Look well, O Cybertron," the brothers called sternly, "You have made your choice: let it be set in steel."

When the humans left the circle, rather than returning to the spot just outside Stonehenge where they had been waiting earlier, they were sent to sit with Ironhide and Bumblebee. "Well done," the weapons specialist whispered with a wink. Lennox shrugged. "None of us are going to live long enough to see the next Meeting," he muttered, "What was the point of the whole charade?" The two Autobots frowned at him. "It wasn't a charade!" Ironhide hissed, "What happened here tonight will effect humans in the future, not just you! Now that humans have been accepted into the Council, your people will have more of a say in any treaties or decrees made during these sessions." "But not all humans?" Epps guessed. Bumblebee shook his helm."Just _the ones_ **who **_**work**_ with _us_," his radio burbled. It was close enough. The implications of future possibilities dawned on the three and they sat in stunned silence. Sam started violently a moment later, remembering what Megatron had said. "Hang on a sec. Did...did Megatron _actually_ callus Optimus's kids?" They all turned to stare at the Decepticon standing next to their leader. To their further consternation, the warlord tipped them the smallest of nods.

"_I think someone stole his brain!" _Sam whispered. Robert and Will were hard pressed to keep from laughing at the horrorstruck expression on the boy's face.

**And then the Chicago Incident happened. If you follow this storyline to that point, I suppose Megatron might be less inclined to harm humans than, say, Sentinel Prime. I don't like Sentinel Prime, never did.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Will you walk into my parlor," said the Writer to the Spy;

"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I've a curious mirror, friend, to show when you are there."

"O no no," said the clever Spy, "to ask me is in vain,

For who goes up your winding stair may ne'er come down again!"

**(and so my effort to catch Soundwave was foiled)**

**But perhaps you, kind readers, will stay? I've another mirror to show you, another glimpse into the might-have-been. Like the last one, it builds on a previous what-if. Written in the style of Robert Louis Stevenson.**

* * *

Scion

London, England. 1878

It was late morning when the missive arrived. The telegram crumpled in the shaking hand. "If I did not know him better," Doctor Rach uttered in a quavering tone, "I should have lost all confidence in Lord Prime, for this an alarming business." Nurse Darby pondered silently a moment: she was surprised by her employer's attitude, and yet relieved, for it meant that Lord Optimus yet lived. "Well," said she, "Let me see the telegram." The elder man handed it over with a tired gesture. Briefly enough, it told that the investigative party that had set out for Stonehenge two days prior would be returning to the manor shortly, but with one very unexpected guest. The woman cried out in horror. "Is he mad? How can he think to bring that scoundrel here, among the children?"

The doctor seemed seized in a qualm, unsure of whether to defend his old friend or agree with his nurse. "Pah!" A young voice permeated the stale air of the clinic and surprised them both. Mo Li had seated herself upon the table and refused to move. She crossed her silk-covered arms over her chest and arched her neck haughtily. "I am not afraid of a madman!" she declared, "Let him come!" Behind her, Inspector Fowler nodded his head in a conciliatory manner. "I am afraid I could not stop her from coming down," the apology was succinct, and nothing more was said. Mo Li rolled her dark eyes back and heaved a voluminous sigh. "When is O'Garvie returning?" Quite independent of her query, Doctor Rach informed the Inspector that Lord Prime and his followers would be arriving late in the afternoon, and that Lord Kaon would be with them. "Merciful God! Is he out of his mind?" the other demanded. "Optimus knows what he is about." the doctor returned in a changed voice. At last he seemed to have made up his mind on the subject. "Indeed? You seem quite sure of Lord Prime, let us hope your faith is not groundless."

Two black carriages halted in front of the grand old house that evening, and the inhabitants of the house stood in the parlor anxiously. "Now then," Nurse Darby took Mo Li and Jack by the arm. "Conceal yourselves as best you can. I'll not have that madman knowing you live here!" In a sickly pallor, Raphael followed suit and the three were shut up into a closet. No sooner had the door shut then the hated voice filled the room. "It has been long since I set foot in these rooms, long indeed!" The severe man did not smile, but his eyes glittered triumphantly. The nurse shuddered under his gaze and hurriedly excused herself. "And it shall be long before you come back, I hope!" Miss d'Iacon swept past him grandly. "You are hardly here for a social call." Brogan and Brendan were not so polite as they shoved the man aside. Lord Megatron's dignity and poise did not falter, and he gazed around him with an air of detached curiosity. Within the cupboard, Raphael felt a flutter of rage begin to rise within him. Desperately, he tried to choke the feeling down, but when the eyes of the enemy seemed to meet his through the crack in the door, the child's blood boiled.

Even as Lord Optimus entered the room, the child threw open the doors of the cabinet and focused all the hatred of a young boy upon the head of the house of Kaon. "Caitiff!" the word was hissed in outrage. Lord Megatron was curious, rather than insulted. "My stars, sir!" he laughed, "Is it possible? Your Irish brat is more resilient than I might have guessed!" Foiche and O'Garvie could hardly have been expected to react other than violently, yet Optimus had the foresight to restrain them. Jack leapt from the closet to catch Raphael's arm. "Come," he whispered to the defiant child, "He is not worthy of your scorn." The younger was ushered towards the door, where Inspector Fowler and Nurse Darby awaited. Catlike, Mo Li exited the cabinet and spun a small blade on her fingers. "Shuāng chūmài, Nǐ huì shībài." A flash of odious supremacy crossed the face of the guest. "Fǎnzhī, Wǒ qīn'ài de. I never fail." there was no hesitation in his reply.

Jack gently steered Mo Li through the door with the others and turned to go himself. In the brief moment that he faced the rest of the room, the lamplight passed over his face. The next moment, Lord Megatron's eye lit with cruel interest. "And now, there is a face that I recognize! You'll find, young man, that Lord Megatron of Kaon is not one to forget a face—even that of a pauper." His gaze shifted between Lord Prime and young Darby and he clucked his tongue scornfully. "Who is his mother?" he jeered. "You may keep a civil tongue _in_ your head, or _out_ of your head, Megatron. I hardly care which it is." Lord Optimus answered coldly. The nobleman turned to Doctor Rach. "Lord Megatron will accompany us to the Dark One's resting place come nightfall. He is to give you any information needed." With strict instructions that no violence be enacted in his home, the stern-faced man slipped from the room to find those who had recently departed.

Jack spun around when his name was called. "My lord?" he asked in polite deference. "I wonder if I might impose upon you to keep something for me?" Optimus phrased it as a request as he drew something from his waistcoat pocket. "Of course, sir." Jack was slightly startled by the odd question. "What is it?" Something cold and metal was pressed into his palm, and Lord Prime's hand lingered a moment. "It is merely an old keepsake of mine. It belonged to my father, and I shouldn't like it to get lost in the coming battle." It was a signet ring, inscribed with the words _Immutare et Integritas _wound around the band. The stylized face of an ancient Greek helmet with a torch beneath it decorated the face of the crest. "Are you certain you ought to give something so precious to me?" The boy gazed at the ring in astonishment. The hand of the signet's proper owner gently lifted his face to meet wise eyes. "I am very certain. It will not be an easy thing to carry, but it is a burden you are ready to bear." The younger man cleared his throat several times before finding his voice again. "Thank you for your trust in me," he answered Lord Prime humbly. "I will keep it safe until you return."

Optimus returned to the other members of his house as they stood guard over Lord Megatron and prepared to leave. Whatever dangers the night ahead held for them all, he at least had the comfort of knowing that the House of Prime would not end with his life.

**A wee bit of vocabulary for those who wondered:**

**Caitiff: a scoundrel or unscrupulous person**

" **Shuāng chūmài, Nǐ huì shībài": "Double crosser, you will not succeed."**

" **Fǎnzhī, Wǒ qīn'ài de": "On the contrary, my dear."**

**_Immutare et Integritas_****: Change and Honesty/Transformation and Integrity**


	8. Chapter 8

**Ok, this one is sort of a "what-if" involving more mundane happenings for the Autobots. I mean, if they're living on Earth, sooner or later something like this will happen to them.**

Law and Grace

"Whew!" Sophie slid into the compact car with a sigh. "That took longer than expected. Okay, bro. Let's go home!" She grinned sheepishly, knowing that if her siblings could hear her talking to her car, they'd stare. So what? She'd given it a name, therefore it would be rude not to talk to it sometimes. Slowly, the girl pulled the Camry out of the tiny parking lot and headed for the open road. _Hmm. Mystery Science Theater 3000 with the little sister tonight?_ She wondered idly as she neared the highway, _Or maybe we'll go see Ender's Game in theaters. That'd be fun! _As she pulled out onto the highway, she was extra alert, as always. After all, it was 5:00 and _everyone_ wanted to get home. It occurred to Sophie that on a Saturday, perhaps the traffic ought to have been slower. Ah well, such was life.

Sophie frowned at the traffic and flicked her turn signals on. It would be best to move to the center lane, where there were fewer cars. As always, she checked her mirrors, then leaned over to check her blind spot. The road was clear, she had room to move, and she began to shift lanes. That's when it happened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a wall of black and heard the screeching of tires. Sophie jerked the wheel to the right as the massive black pickup truck beside her jerked to the left. It was too little, too late. The impact snapped Sophie's head to the right and she did not realize for several minutes that her driver's side window was completely gone. Mind blank with terror, she floored the gas pedal and drove on. In her rearview mirror, she could not see the truck that had hit her, and assumed that it also kept going. The only words to leave her mouth were, "Oh God, oh God, oh God, thank You, thank You, thank You _I should be dead!_ oh God, oh God, oh God..." for several minutes.

She knew that she was supposed to pull over and call someone, but in her state of mind, she did not realize that she should have pulled over _on the highway_ and instead pulled into a Taco Bell fifteen minutes away that she was familiar with. Looking down, Sophie realized that she was _covered_ in broken glass. It was _everywhere_. Humorlessly, she smiled down at the fist-sized shard in her lap. "Wow," she breathed, "That stuff is thicker than I thought!" With shaking hands, she pulled her cellphone from her purse and dialed her sister. "Hey," she quavered, "Are you sitting down?" After rapidly explaining herself to her sister, Sophie received assurances that her siblings were on the way to her location. Then, after getting the number of the highway patrol, Sophie called the police. When the voice on the other end asked, "What color was the other vehicle" and "How long ago was this?" she began to worry. What if the other car had called in first and told the police it was _her_ fault? She had checked her blindspot, there hadn't been anything there!

Sophie waited in the cold parking lot for half an hour, crawling out of the busted window when the door wouldn't open. She soon found out why: the hinges were smashed in. "Honorable war wounds, Trogdor," she sighed to the Toyota. It didn't answer: it never did. Finally, two of her siblings arrived and held her until the shaking stopped. They waited awhile longer, then Sophie called the highway patrol again. "Don't worry," the dispatcher said, "Just stay there, we've got a trooper headed your way. His name's Officer Flint, alright?" Not long after, the black-and-white police car pulled into the lot and out stepped a young man with a crew cut. He did not look happy. He glanced from the car to the young woman, and his lips tightened. "What happened?" he asked coldly. Sophie began to explain the damage, but he cut her off. "You know you left him facing the wrong way on the highway?" he growled, "And you left. So tell me why I shouldn't take you to jail right now?"

Sophie paled, and behind her she could sense her sister barely restraining herself from slapping the officer for his tone. "I didn't know!" the girl cried out, "I didn't see him in the mirror! Is he okay?" The officer scowled. "He's okay. He didn't get transported or anything. Still, if he _had _been injured, you'd be going to jail for a long time for fleeing the scene." Sophie gasped. She hadn't realized that's what she had done, she merely thought she was pulling over at the first safe place she knew. She could do nothing but whisper, "I didn't know! I didn't know!" miserably, over and over. Officer Flint asked for her license and registration, and she held them out with trembling hands. Swiftly, he looked through the cards. "This is your insurance and license, I need your vehicle registration too," he said calmly.

Sophie could have slapped herself and hoped that the officer didn't notice that she'd accidentally handed him her voter's registration instead. "Um, it's in the-uh-glove compartment," she squeaked, hurrying over to the undamaged side of the vehicle. As she opened the compartment for the first time in close to a year, an avalanche of gas receipts tumbled out. "What the _heck_?!" Sophie gaped at the mess. Pale face rapidly turning scarlet, she sifted through the mess, looking for the registration. Finally, she turned to look up at the officer. "I'm so sorry," she gulped, "I can't remember what it looks like." Sophie longed for the earth to open up and swallow her, right there. The man's eyes softened as he extracted the necessary paper from the pile of receipts. "Here it is, right here." He seemed to struggle for a moment with whether to say anything, then sighed. "I wasn't really going to arrest you," he said, "I just needed to make sure you understood the gravity of the situation. I'm sorry I was harsh. That's my job. You called the incident in, so you wouldn't have gone to jail."

He left her shaking, standing with the other two, and slid into the police car to file the report. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the young woman sink to the pavement, dazed, and still covered in broken glass. "Well, I feel like an ogre." he remarked to seemingly thin air. There was a displeased hum from the radio. "Legally, the driver of that car is at fault." A precise voice emanated from the radio, "She will have to face the consequences." Lightly, Flint struck the dashboard. "Come _on_ Prowl! Look at the kid: she's traumatized!" The Autobot tactician was less than sympathetic. "Then she shouldn't have changed lanes improperly. I still think you ought to have arrested her." Flint groaned again and dragged a hand over his face. "Look, I don't think she hit Ironhide because of careless driving. She said she checked her blindspot, he probably just came up into it after she looked away. It could've happened to anyone."

"Well it happened to Ironhide, and now he's being _towed_ back to base!" Prowl snapped. The human snorted. "You should've heard her. I swear, once she got past the 'I didn't know' track, she wouldn't stop asking if the other driver was alright." He sighed. "Well, it's better than some of the cases I've seen." Flint ran his fingers through his short blond hair. "Most hit-and-runs, the runner has an expired license, or the car is stolen, or they were drinking. It's pretty clear none of those apply here. She said she kept driving because she was scared...I'd have to say I believe her." Prowl huffed, clearly unwilling to let the matter go. "She is still legally at fault!" he insisted. "Yeah, she is," Flint agreed, "But this is pretty obviously her first offense. If she comes into traffic court on the right day, I'm going to try to get her fine brought down." The car lurched slightly. "Brought _down_?! Why? If this is a first offense, shouldn't the girl learn through hard experience never to do it again?" Prowl gasped.

The officer shook his head. "Scan the kid and tell me what you see," he suggested. The Autobot covertly checked the driver's vital signs and settled on his tires slightly. "Pheromones suggest extreme distress and low levels of shock," he concluded reluctantly, "And no sign of falsehood." As the human completed the collision report and prepared to step out of the car, he turned to the radio. "She's terrified, Prowl. I'm showing her grace." He slammed the door behind him and walked over to Sophie, who struggled to her feet and fidgeted, evidently on the verge of tears. Prowl observed the way her shoulders sagged with combined relief and shame when she learned that she was legally culpable for the incident and that the fee would not be as high as she had feared. "Grace, hmm?" he mused quietly. He wondered what Ironhide would think.

**Confession time, guys. "Sophie" doesn't exist: the driver who was hit by a truck that bore a suspicious resemblance to Ironhide was me. This is my way of coping with a slightly scarring incident. So, word to the wise: Even if you ****_always _****check your blindspots (which you should), you should check your blindspots' blindspots. Because those apparently exist.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Ok, this one was inspired by the scene in "Darkest Hour" where Jack declares that he is willing to die for Cybertron since the Autobots were willing to die for Earth. I got to thinking: he's awfully lucky Starscream didn't take him up on that! Then I thought, wait. How do the Decepticons know the atmosphere is toxic to humans? What do they know about humans at ****_all_****? And then this happened. (This could've been any of the kids, really. Jack just happened to open his mouth first.)**

Kryptonite

Starscream dragged his talons down the side of the cannister, sending sparks flying with a sickening screech. "Ja-ack," he crooned in a sing-song voice, "It's time to come out and pla-ay!" He was not prepared for the dire glare the boy sent his way, or the fearless way in which all three children carried themselves. "Go ahead!" Jack snarled, "The Autobots were prepared to sacrifice themselves for my planet: I'll do the same for theirs." "Me too, Creepy!" Miko hissed up at Knock Out. Raf merely gulped and nodded. Megatron rolled his shoulders and grinned savagely. "Perhaps we should oblige them?" That was all Starscream heard. Optimus Prime's refusal to sacrifice the humans went unnoticed as he callously flung the container to the ground, shattering it. "Jack!" Arcee shrieked. Megatron's optic twitched slightly at the premature execution of his plan, but he played it off well. "This shouldn't take long," he reassured the boy mockingly, "But I assure you, it will be _quite_ painful!"

Jack gasped helplessly for air, clutching his throat. Cold. Everything was so _cold_! Sirens screamed in his ears, so loud that his skull felt as though it were splitting. He could still hear—oh Primus, _he could hear Rafael and Miko breathing_! His vision blurred and cleared and blurred again before darkening altogether as he went into complete sensory overload. He cried out as fire coursed through his skin, oblivious to the sounds of battle around him, or to Arcee's gentle servos holding him protectively to her spark. Jack choked and flailed as feebly as a newborn. "Shh, shh, it's going to be okay, Jack," Arcee whispered tearfully, "I'm right here. I've got you." The Decepticons quickly realized that even though they'd gotten the Omega Keys, they'd made a grave mistake. The other two humans were in Autobot hands and those Autobots had murder in their optics. In moments, Megatron found himself pinned to the pillars of the Omega Lock with Optimus Prime's servos around his throat. "_Do not. Ever. Threaten our children!_" Optimus whispered, tightening his grip.

For the first time in many, many years, Megatron was afraid. With a mighty heave, he managed to throw off the Prime and backhanded him viciously. He looked across the battlefield to the limp figure in Arcee's arms. "Too late, Prime," he sneered triumphantly. "You couldn't save the Matrix Bearer, not this time." But he was wrong. Jack wasn't dead yet. By increments, his vision began to clear, crystallizing suddenly with the focus of a rifle scope. "Ar...cee?" he rasped, then hissed in discomfort. His throat was raw from the screams that he hadn't realized had come from him. He blinked rapidly and was amused to realize that he could _hear _himself blinking. Was that normal? "Hey, Partner." he gasped, struggling to sit upright. Starscream's jaw dropped. "It didn't kill him?!" he screeched, "The atmosphere was supposed to kill him!" He whooped in panic and dodged Smokescreen's shots. "I guess what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger!" the rookie shouted, peppering the Seeker's wings with lasers.

The Autobots were soon distracted by the knowledge that their brave human friend had not died as they had thought. As they gathered around Arcee and Jack, Megatron seized the moment to activate the Omega Lock. Miko saw it first. "No!" she yelled, "Leave our planet alone!" Jack heard the hum of machinery tuning up and his eyes widened. "Not Jasper!" he whispered. With a herculean effort, he pulled himself to his feet. "Jackson, stop." Optimus wrapped a hand around him. "Let us handle this." The boy seemed conflicted. "But, that's my planet they're Cyberforming!" The Prime tightened his grip ever-so-gently. "I know, Jackson. _We_ will fight, _you_ will remain with Miko and Rafael." As Smokescreen and Arcee began to move stealthily towards the Lock, Optimus set Jack down between Miko and Raf's cannisters. "You have done well, all of you," he murmured. "No matter what happens, I am proud of you." Then he turned and raised the Star Saber high. "No matter what happens."

"Jack, are you okay?" Raf placed a hand on the glass, worried. "We thought you were dying!" "So did I," the older boy replied, mystified. Miko, too, raised her hands to the walls of the container. "What was it like?" Jack shuddered. "Imagine all five senses overloading at once." He sat between the two jars and pulled his knees to his chest. The three watched the battle for a while, all three gasping in combined horror and disbelief when Optimus swung the Star Saber and brought it down on the Omega Lock. The fury in Megatron's optics was terrifying. "Oh no." Raf pointed to Starscream, who was aiming a rocket in their direction. Jack leapt to his feet. "Guys, guys, guys!" he yelled. There was no time. He seized the edges of the jars and pulled them out of the way of the missile in a burst of adrenalin. Starscream's snarl of outrage was quickly cut short by a yelp as he dodged a furious Arcee. Optimus called for a Ground Bridge and the Autobots ran past, scooping the children up as they went. In Bulkhead's arms, Miko gaped at Jack. "How did you _do _that?" she wondered.

Raf's eyes were shining behind his glasses. "It's the atmosphere, it's got to be! It enhances a human's strength and senses to a certain degree, like Superman!" Miko didn't have the heart to call the boy a nerd. Ratchet looked up as they dove through the portal. "Optimus! What happened?!" he cried. His only answer was to have Jack pushed into his hands. "Scan him for injuries, now!" the Prime ordered tersely, "Autobots, with me!" Without even pausing, Optimus made for the top of the mesa. The heightened hearing and sight were beginning to fade, and Jack could not help feeling as though he were going blind and deaf to a degree. Ratchet stared down at the boy. "_What _happened?!" The scans showed him to be in perfect health, albeit with multiple responses from his pain receptors. "Starscream smashed the jar on Cybertron!" Miko explained, "Jack was exposed to the air." "Impossible! He should be dead!" the medic unceremoniously dropped Jack onto the med berth and ran several more scans.

He faltered when Raf told him what had become of the Omega Lock. "You were so ready to lay down your lives for our world, and it was in vain," Ratchet muttered sadly. Jack shook his head. "No. It wasn't. None of the Autobots died, none of us died. Where there's life, there's hope, right?" Ratchet clenched his fists. "Not for Cybertron, there isn't! The Omega Lock was our only hope of restoring our home!" He would not hear any more, not even when Raf brought up the Forge of Solus Prime. Ratchet refused to speak to anyone until the rest of the team came down from the roof in a state of nervous energy. "Prepare the Ground Bridge," Optimus rumbled, "We are evacuating." Bumblebee twisted the lids off of the two cannisters and pulled Raf out, beeping mournfully. "You did your best, 'Bee." Raf said comfortingly. Miko hoisted the Resonance Cannon onto her shoulder and scowled fiercely. "We're Autobots! We don't _run_!"

Optimus smiled sadly. "Brave spark, Miko. But the Decepticons have discovered the location of Outpost Omega. We are vulnerable here." Bulkhead transformed and opened a door. "Come on, kid. Let's go," he sighed. Miko shifted the cannon to her other shoulder and saluted Optimus before climbing in. The coordinates were chosen at random and they soon disappeared into the green vortex, with Miko sending one last heartrending look at Jack and Raf. As the second set of coordinates were chosen, Ratchet fussed over Bumblebee and Rafael. "Don't talk to strangers, don't use your cell phone, stay out of the city...do you know how to survive in the wilderness? Will you be okay?" Raf tried to smile, but failed. "I've gone camping before, Ratchet. We'll be okay." The crotchety medic pulled both young ones close for a moment before they too headed through the Bridge. Arcee transformed and Jack climbed on, looking around with blurry eyes. "Wait." Optimus held up a hand to stop them.

Without another word, he pulled something from his armor and held it out to Jack. It was the Key to Vector Sigma. The boy gasped. "Oh no. You—you're going to-" The Key was pushed into his grasp gently but firmly. "Go with Primus, both of you." "Optimus, you can't stay behind!" Jack pleaded, "Please, please _please_ don't do this!" Massive servos gently brushed across the teen's face. "You were prepared to give up your life for a world that was not your own, Jackson. Let me do the same for the world I chose." He turned his gaze to Arcee. "Take refuge in Vector Sigma: remain there until you are called for." The Bridge opened and the two-wheeler sped through with her passenger. The Decepticons were not guarding the Space Bridge, so occupied were they with the destruction of the Autobot base. Arcee switched to robot mode and shot the sentries before they had time to react. "Let's go," she said flatly, setting the coordinates for Kaon. Jack took one last look behind him, and slipped through the portal with his partner, leaving his planet behind.

They would wait within the sanctuary of Vector Sigma, watching and listening, until a transmission from Ultra Magnus alerted them to the Resistance beginning on Earth. Steeped in the history of the Primes, Arcee and Jack returned to the organic world ready to fight.

Ready to take back their home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ah, I couldn't help it. I made a continuation to the last chapter. Or, if you like, it could fit into "The Pledge" somewhere. Gyaahaaa this is a long one, sooooorrrryyyyyy!**

Remnant

The whiskered screech ruffled its feathers in agitation as a lone figure broke from the shadows under its perch and darted across the wasteland. Disgruntled, the owl began to preen itself. Humans! What a nuisance, it thought, strutting about as if they still owned the place! Why couldn't they get it through their funny heads that Jasper was the domain of owls and foxes now? The bird screeched bad-temperedly and flapped away, leaving the solitary human to the dystopia that was the Desolation of Megatron. He burrowed into a heap of scrap metal and ash as a pair of Seekers swooped low overhead. The human watched them with cold blue eyes as they finished their sweep and returned to their point of origin: that scar on the face of the earth, Darkmount. The young man's blood boiled at the hideous sight, but his hand went to a pale light shining from around his neck. "I know, I know," he whispered to the unheard voices, "Even Megatron can't undo a prophecy." His eyes narrowed. "The reckoning is coming."

When he was certain that the patrol was not returning, he slipped from the makeshift shelter and scurried from hiding place to hiding place in an increasingly fruitless search for survivors. He crouched next to the body in the bombed-out florist's shop and respectfully closed its eyes. She had been a gentle soul, the shopkeeper, and had died the way she had lived: trying to help others. The searcher shook his head pityingly and resumed his quest. When he came to the remains of Memorial High School, he stopped. Intuition was telling him that _someone_ at least was alive there. Wrenching the battered doors back, he dropped into the hole that was once a front walkway. Cautiously, the boy made his way down the maze of hallways until the debris blocked the windows and rendered the school completely dark. "Great." he muttered. He slipped the glowing object from under his shirt to provide a little illumination, and drew a long blade from a nylon sheath on his back in a slightly clumsy motion. The moment the hilt touched his skin, the sword radiated a vibrant blue light, chasing away the shadows.

The human caught sight of long scuff marks and scrapes in the linoleum flooring, and began to follow them. His ears twitched slightly as he began to hear the sounds of whispering and dry, rattling coughs. The trail ended at what had once been the cafeteria door, now completely barricaded by desks and lockers. As he approached, a voice faintly whispered, "Beck, what's that light?" A second voice quickly shushed the first. "Shh! Keep your head down, it might be one of Them!" Now, a third voice joined the others. "Nah, too small. There's no way one of those Iron Man knockoffs could fit down here." The swordsman waited outside the barricade appraisingly, listening. The first voice, the coughing girl, spoke again. "Vince, I think somebody's out there. Maybe they need our help!" Vince groaned softly. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll look, but that's it!" his voice grew quieter for a moment. "Come on, Sierra. You need to drink that water if you're going to lose that cough."

"I won't." Sierra sounded stubborn. "That's the last of the fresh water, Vince. Give it to one of the younger kids!" The scout had heard enough. "Vince, Rebecca, Sierra! How many are trapped in there with you?" he called, striking the desks and lockers with his blade. The pale, dirty face of Sierra Cody appeared through a gap in the desks. "Oh my gosh! It's _you_!" she cried. Without a second thought, she squirmed out of the blockade, hacking dryly all the way, and stumbled up to throw her arms around the boy's neck. "Jack! I'm so glad you're okay! One of the cheerleaders saw the robots take you the day they came. Are your friends alright?" She only stopped for air when she began to cough again. With a kind smile, the tracker gently removed her arms from around his neck and patted her back until she could breathe again. "Not Jack," he said softly, "It's Rodimus now." Sierra crinkled her nose. "Radames? Like that guy from _Aida_?"

He chuckled. "Close enough." He enveloped the girl in a warm embrace. "You have _no _idea how glad I am to see you!" he whispered, "I thought for sure I was going to find nothing but corpses down here!" "Wait..." Vince peered out from the desks. "Darby? You...you came back for _us_?" The other teen walked forward to shake Vince's hand, and the former bully could not help noticing that Darby was not the shrimpy kid he remembered. "_Rodimus_, not Darby. And yes, I can get you all out of here, take you someplace safe. The question is, are you willing to follow me?" In answer, Vince called over two other boys to help him move one of the lockers aside. He beckoned to the twenty-eight students who had been trapped in the room for five weeks. "Come on, guys. We're leaving." Rodimus strode forward with Sierra trailing close behind. "Is anyone sick or wounded?" he asked authoritatively. There were three twelve-year-olds in the group who were somewhat weaker than the rest, and one of the thirteen-year-olds, Harmony, and sprained an ankle. Otherwise, everyone was limited to cuts and bruises.

"Alright," Rodimus said firmly, "We have a lot of ground to cover tonight. As soon as the sun goes down, we make for the northern mesas. There are plenty of abandoned houses along the way if we end up needing shelter." He turned and began the march, holding his sword in front of him. "We'll need to take turns carrying the younger ones. No talking, stay together. If you see any aircraft, no matter what insignia its got, you hit the ground. You don't run, you don't hide, just play dead and let me handle it." The small line of refugees nervously followed their rescuer up through the halls to the ruined doors. "Almost sundown," Sierra rasped. Rodimus nodded, crouched on the top step. "It's three hours' march to the first outpost," he murmured back. The girl blinked in surprise. "What outpost?" The boy she had known as Jack turned to her and raised an eyebrow calmly. "You didn't think we'd let the 'Cons waltz in and take over without starting a resistance, did you?" Rebecca joined the two and tied her blond hair back. "Radames, who are the 'Cons?" The boy cracked a grin at the mispronunciation of his mandated codename, but he didn't correct her. "It's short for Decepticon. They're the ones who trashed our town." He stood and stretched. "I fight for their mortal enemies, and that's all you need to know right now." As the last light faded from the horizon, Rodimus sheathed his sword. "Okay people, let's move." he said grimly.

It was a long, slow exodus, stopping for cover at every noise. It was two hours before they made it as far as the first set of abandoned houses. Rodimus wrenched a window open and hoisted Harmony through, followed by the other three youngest students. One by one, the teenagers silently slipped into the house and gathered on the floor in the hallways and kitchen. "Stay away from the windows," Vince ordered in a low voice, "Just like at school." The discovery of running water led to quickly hushed shouts of joy as each boy and girl was able to drink his or her fill for the first time in several weeks. The pantry had already been looted, but a box of shredded wheat was found and passed from person to person. "Slow down with that!" Rebecca scolded in a motherly tone, "We don't know when we'll be eating next!" She moved from student to student, rationing cereal and trying to boost morale. Vince watched her for a moment, then leaned on the doorpost across from Rodimus, toying with the baseball bat he'd brought from the school.

"Gang initiation." The raven-haired youth looked up in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" The ginger glared at him. "What was it you said? A bunch of guys grabbed me and shoved me in a trunk? I remember some of that night, Darby. Don't tell me the giant hand ripping off the car door was my imagination." His eyes narrowed, taking in the strange pendant around Rodimus's neck. "They came for _you_, didn't they?" Rodimus blew out a breath and nodded solemnly. "Yeah, they did. The one that saved you is the leader of the resistance." He let out a dry chuckle. "I got in _so _much trouble for that whole fiasco. You should've seen it, Vince. It was worse than that Elephant Graveyard thing in the _Lion_ _King_!" "Yeah?" Vince grinned ever so slightly and shifted to sit next to his old rival. "What happened?" The other boy's smile dropped. "I disappointed him. Well, _we_ disappointed him. I wasn't the only one involved, but I was the instigator." Vince slugged him on the shoulder in a halfhearted show of camaraderie. "You _disappointed_ him? What is he, your dad?" Rodimus laughed again. "Honestly, this guy is kind of _everyone_'s dad. You'll understand when you meet him." He stood once more and addressed the others.

"I know you're tired guys, but it's time to move on. If we don't make the outpost by morning, we're dead in the water." Without protest, the young refugees began helping each other to their feet. They had nearly reached the edge of the desert when a low hum was heard overhead. "_Seekers_!" Rodimus hissed, "Everyone down!" It wasn't a Decepticon patrol. Out of the dark clouds covering the stars, a huge starship lowered itself towards them. Rodimus drew his sword, prepared to lead the ship's occupants away from his charges if need be. The ramp extended to reveal—"Jack!" Arcee dove from the ship and swept her partner into a tight embrace. "You're alive! _Primus_! If you ever go off on a solo mission without telling me again, so help me I'll-" "Soldier! Who are all these native life-forms?" a demanding bellow interrupted. Arcee seemed to notice the twenty-eight for the first time. "They're children, sir." she said in surprise. Rodimus nodded. "I'm under orders to lead survivors back to R.O.1," he explained to her in a low voice. The newcomer mech frowned. "Whose orders, native?" he asked brusquely. The boy glared suspiciously at the unfamiliar warrior and stood straight and tall. "I am afraid I cannot answer that question without the express permission of my commanding officer."

"Soldier," the blue and red mech said acidly, "Perhaps you will remind the native to _watch its tone_." "Radames, perhaps _you _will remind the alien _whose turf he's on_!" Sierra marched up to stand beside him, glaring up at the Autobots. "At ease, Sierra," Rodimus whispered, "He's a stranger in a strange land. We can't expect him to behave like us." Sierra did not, in fact, calm down. "I don't care if he's the gosh-danged _Pope_!" She pointed an accusing finger at the Commander. "We're called _humans_! Not 'native life-forms'. And just because we don't answer to you doesn't mean you get to treat us like...like... lower beings!" Ultra Magnus was somewhat taken aback by the tiny femme. He scowled, but grudgingly admitted that he may have been out of line—in the privacy of his own processor, of course. "Very well, _humans_," he stressed the word. "The question remains: under whose orders are you meeting this Resistance?" Tactfully, Arcee interrupted before the tension could rise any higher. "Commander, these kids are extremely vulnerable out here. We need to get them to safety, then I can take you to the base." She was visibly relieved when he reluctantly agreed.

Rodimus noticed that the other twenty-six students looked expectantly at Vince and played along. "It's your call," he said easily, "We can fly with these guys, or walk for another two hours." The other boy bit his lip in thought, then turned to look up at the female alien, who seemed to be the friendlier of the two. "Last year," he said, masking his nerves with bravado, "I was almost killed by one of the same creeps who took over Jasper. I was saved by one of your kind. He was big, red and blue, ripped the door right off the car I was in. Sound familiar?" Arcee's optics widened. "By the Allspark! You were conscious?!" Vince smirked at her. "That's all I needed to hear." He turned to the others and jerked his head towards the _Storm Bringer_. "Let's go," he ordered in a clipped tone. Rodimus hid his smile, but clapped the boy on the shoulder as he passed. "Good call."

The band of highschoolers settled into the cargo bay, but Magnus noted that they looked ill at ease and stayed close to the doors. The longer he observed them, the more they reminded him of the survivors of Crystal City, or the orphans of the Altihex Bombings. His spark twisted painfully in his frame when one of the smallest ones began to cry for its guardians. "That was my church," she sniffled, pointing out the window, "They were supposed to be safe in there!" A boy from a higher grade level wrapped an arm around the child's thin shoulders while she wept. Ultra Magnus stood. "Take the helm," he said to Arcee quietly. Rodimus looked up sharply and watched him with keen eyes as he approached the humans. Magnus cleared his throat awkwardly. "I fear that I was...unnecessarily terse at our first meeting," he told them, "I am unaccustomed to interacting with civilians." It was as close as they were going to get to an apology. From her spot tending to Harmony's ankle, Sierra barely nodded in acknowledgment. Cautiously, Magnus seated himself between the cockpit and the cargo bay to keep watch over the refugees. Merciful Thirteen! They were only sparklings!

"This is your first experience with war?" he asked gently. The one with the sword made a sound that might have been a laugh. "For them, yes. I've had a little longer to get ready for this." Rodimus momentarily laid his head down on his knees, remembering. _"Go ahead! The Autobots were willing to sacrifice themselves for my planet. I'll do the same for theirs!" "Perhaps we should oblige them?" "JACK!" "How did you do that?" "The Decepticons have discovered the location of Outpost Omega." "Take refuge in Vector Sigma, wait there until called for." _Rodimus shook off the memories and threw his jacket to a round-faced girl in the middle of the pack. "Here, J'ournae. You're shivering." he sighed. The child nodded gratefully and pulled the garment around her shoulders. "Listen up, guys," the young soldier waved for their attention. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Everybody pick a partner and stay with them until we get to the refugee camps."

A little ways apart from the others, Vince stood on a crate, looking out the viewport as Jasper, Nevada faded into the distance. His eyes were hard as he caught sight of Darkmount behind them. A voice at his elbow startled him. "_The bells were ringing in the dale/ And men looked up with faces pale;/ The dragon's ire more fierce than fire/ Laid low their towers and houses frail._" Rebecca stood behind him, anger and despair compounded in her eyes. "Appropriate," Vince acknowledged, "Seeing as we are exiles as well, now." The girl smiled sadly. "You know, I never pegged you for a Tolkien fan." Vince met her grin with a rueful smirk of his own. "Well, you never pegged me for anything." They stood together, watching the wasteland disappear behind them, not quite able to look towards their new destination yet.

When Arcee landed the _Storm Bringer_, Ultra Magnus was not sure why. He saw no base, nor did anything appear on his scanner. It was nothing but a sheer cliff-face with a small waterfall beside it. Arcee turned to the students. "Can everyone swim?" she asked. Ten of them could not. "Right, you ten come with me and Commander Magnus. Everyone else, go with Ja—with Rodimus." Very reluctantly, the group split up. They had spent close to a month trapped together, and had grown to depend upon each other. "Go ahead, guys," Vince placated them, "I'll go with the non-swimmers." Reassured, the rest of them waded into the water behind Rodimus. He dove beneath the waterfall and began to swim. There was a low rock ceiling above him, but it wasn't so low that he couldn't surface briefly for air before submerging again. Followed by seventeen of his classmates, he made his way through a natural stone tunnel that ended in a hidden bay within a cave. "We've got Selkies!" someone shouted, and the unmistakable _clack_ of bullets being chambered alerted a very human presence.

"At ease!" Bill Fowler's voice carried through the stone chamber. The man with the gun, a well-built blond man with a stern face, nodded and offered Rodimus a hand out of the pool. "Thanks, Duke," he gasped. He turned to Fowler. "Arcee, another Autobot, and eleven refugees are coming in through the Chimneys." He shook some of the water from his hair and turned to help Sergeant Hauser remove his comrades from the water. Meanwhile, Fowler shouted to the gathered humans and Autobots, "Front door, people! Move it! We need eyes on the Stacks!" A bulky red-orange mech flashed an "ok" sign and rolled out of the room. Sierra and Rebecca climbed from the bay with Harmony draped over their shoulders. "Oh my-" Rebecca never finished the sentence. The refugees stared mutely at the sight before their waterlogged eyes. It was like something out of a film: floodlights lit the cave, highlighting a hive of activity. Squads of soldiers jogged back and forth drilling, organizing weaponry, and aiding the metallic giants with small injuries. A white and red robot stood in the middle of it all, giving directions and repeatedly calling out, "Blast it all! Where _are_ those boys of mine?"

Noticing the wet teenagers, a pink femme strolled over and smiled down at them all. "Welcome, young ones," she greeted them in a low, gentle voice. "_She sounds like Galadriel!_" J'ournae whispered to Harmony. The femme heard her and laughed lightly. "I am flattered, little one! My designation—my name, if you will—is Elita One." Her pale optics shuttered quickly. "My goodness! You're all soaked to the skin! Come with me." Cooing and fussing like a mother hen, Elita ushered them all to a smaller cave adjoining the main chamber that was heated and filled with towels and blankets. "Wait here, my little ones," she said, smiling sweetly, "Once you are all warm and dry, you will be escorted to the human living quarters, where perhaps we can reunite you with your families." She tilted her winged helm slightly to regard Rodimus. "Not you. You are to report to the place the soldiers call "the audience chamber". _He_ wishes to speak to you." Rodimus saluted the towering femme and set off across the base at a good clip, just as Arcee, Magnus and the others arrived from the Chimney Passage.

The so-called "audience chamber" was a long stone vault that the soldiers had taken the time to put doors in. On completing it, Miko had remarked that it looked like the setting from the last scene of the first _Star Wars_ film, thus granting it its nickname. Optimus Prime stood within, staring at the north wall. The littlest Wrecker had enlisted some of the more artistically inclined soldiers and refugees in the making of a long mural depicting the history of the Autobot/Human alliance. "For posterity!" she'd chirped. They all knew it was an attempt to distract them from their present circumstances, but they gratefully accepted any paintbrush she gave  
them and pitched in wherever they could. Optimus did not look up when the doors opened a fraction, nor did he question how he knew it was Jack. "Come in, young one," the sonorous voice rumbled. Rodimus hurried to stand before the Prime, who glanced at the water dripping from his clothes with mild amusement.

"I came in through the Selkie door," the boy explained sheepishly. Satisfied with the reason, the Prime returned his attention to the mural. "Given your youth, General Bryce and those he represents are having difficulty understanding why I sent you out to search for survivors without an adult or your partner." he remarked in an almost conversational tone. Rodimus sighed. "Did the three weeks in Vector Sigma come up?" he asked gingerly. Optimus shook his helm. "I make it a point not to involve family matters in official meetings. Questions were raised," he warned, "About your loyalty." He held up a hand, forestalling an angry outburst. "Not that they doubted your loyalty, Jackson. Rather, they did not understand why a human should pledge his service to the Autobot cause." "To the Autobot _leader_," Rodimus corrected. He shrugged. "I guess the idea of anyone willingly putting themselves under the authority of another is kind of a foreign concept here." He made a face, imagining the human government's reaction to finding out about the Omega Lock incident, or worse, all the times Miko had run into battle.

"They didn't threaten to call CPS, did they?" he looked up at the Prime, who met his gaze steadily. "General Abernathy did, but Nurse Darby quickly made him understand that anyone wishing to separate Miko, Rafael, and you from this family would not only have to go through her, but some very unhappy guardians." He paused for a moment. "And then they would deal with me." He held out his hand and Rodimus climbed up. "Are you adapting to the codename?" he sounded genuinely curious. The boy rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "It's a little hard, when everyone keeps calling me Jack. I mean, I know Vector Sigma told me to take the name for a reason, but I kinda wish it'd said why before we came back to Earth." The giant's fingers curled inward slightly, as if shielding the small human from the expectations of Cybertron's super computer. "Was it difficult?" he asked gently, suddenly changing the subject, "Seeing your home like that?"

Rodimus ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. "It's...it felt like being in Kaon again." He sat down on Optimus's palm and rested his forehead on his knees. "There were _so many corpses_ Optimus!" his voice cracked. "I knew most of them. They were good people." He felt the touch of one massive servo on his head as he quietly vented his pain. "Jasper has been completely destroyed. It looks like a zombie apocalypse waiting to happen!" He groaned softly, and fell silent for a time. Then, he raised his head and grinned fiercely through the tears. "I thought I wasn't going to find _anyone_ alive, honestly, but then I found Sierra and Vince and the others. I saw them, and it was like the sun came out for a moment. I saw them, and I thought _They didn't kill all of us. We won't be erased so easily_!" Optimus nodded sympathetically. "Hope is a very powerful thing, Jack." he looked back up at the mural. "Without it, I certainly would not be standing here." Rodimus leaned back against Optimus's thumb. "It's like the old stories..." he let the quote trail off with a knowing smile.

_There's some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for._


	11. Chapter 11

**Some of you may have read "The Miner's Song" and might remember the one I called "The Maccadams Drinking Song". Well, in Maccadam's Old Oil House, what generation/tv show/comic incarnation you are doesn't matter. The interior kinda exists outside of time and space, so you can have G1 characters interacting with Transformers: Animated characters and suchlike. Therefore, this sprang to mind.**

* * *

In which an Autobot goes somewhere everybot knows his name.

Dead tired, bent-shouldered, cursing at the fog, the two soldiers struggled to the lighted windows of the inn, each supporting the other on his arm. As the weary pair pushed open the doors, a thunderous shout welcomed them. "Heyyy! There they are!" an old Ironhide bellowed, waving a tankard of oil, "Get in here, ya little punks!" Similar greetings and declarations followed from every corner of the warm, smoky room. Embarrassed, the Prime and the Warlord stepped inside and faced the crowd. Transformers of every description and generation filled the establishment, and there was an atmosphere of celebration throughout.

The noisy roustabouts and well-wishers parted and another Prime and Warlord approached. Their designs were simple and uncomplicated: they were the First. "Congratulations! You've survived your first season!" the Warlord crowed, slapping Megatron heartily on the back. He raised his arm and at least three others of his kind shouted, "I still function!" as some sort of bizarre toast. (**a/n: a common enough replacement for "I'm okay!" in my house**). The First Optimus shook his helm in mock disapproval, then placed a hand on the younger Prime's shoulder. "Well done," he said simply. "Thank you, Eldest," the addressed murmured humbly. He was working up the nerve to ask the Eldest Optimus whether he'd followed his example well when Megatron, who'd already lost any inhibitions he'd brought with him, threw an arm around his neck.

"Come, Orion! Let us find some kindred spirits!" Then, as an afterthought, "Or perhaps just some spirits." He kept a firm grip and began to drag the sputtering Prime away. "But-but-but-but-" he tried to protest as he was pulled to a table full of Insecticons. "Come on, Cap'n! Live a little!" called Wheeljack from a table with Airachnid, Breakdown, and a solemn sort of fellow who called himself Book. Megatron laughed and pushed a tankard into Optimus's servos. "Listen to the mech! Yesterday we battled, tomorrow we will battle, but tonight? Tonight, Little Brother, life is good!" The Autobot cast a suspicious glance from the tankard to the Decepticon. "What happens in Maccadam's, _stays_ in Maccadam's." "Agreed."

Several tables past them, Bulkhead sat with an older Bulkhead and Optimus, complaining. "I don't know how she managed it, but the whole base was covered in this sticky stuff she called _silly string_! I swear I only left the room for two minutes!" The Optimus nodded sympathetically. "Sounds like mine. You can't take your optics off of them for even a _minute_! If it's not running into battle, it's going to be messing with the machinery." The older Bulkhead elbowed the younger playfully. "Just you wait until she's old enough to bring boys home! You think it's bad now? Hoo boy, you ain't seen nothin' yet!" The younger Wrecker groaned and sank his helm to the table in defeat.

In the far corner, half shrouded by darkness, the Eldest Prime watched the proceedings with a benevolent gleam in his optics. Even with his battle-mask in place, it seemed as though he smiled when the newest Megatron somehow coaxed the youngest Optimus into singing an old war ballad with him. "I think they will do well, don't you?" the old Optimus whispered to his brother. The Eldest Warlord nodded, grinning. "I give them, oh...three seasons at least."

"Four."

"No, Brother. No more than three." Megatron said flatly.

"Three and a film," Optimus countered.

"Done." They shook hands and drained their tankards, then turned back to watch the humorous proceedings of the evening.

But did you not know that that is how all the spans of the war documentaries are decided?

* * *

**This is Shattered Glass, where Megatron was a school teacher. I imagined him being sent to teach "at risk" younglings from lower castes, and I thought he'd like that. Perfect chance to make little revolutionaries.**

The Dead Scraplets Convention

_A school cannot expect its students to rise above its own character _

—_Milt Uecker, 2003_

"You're kidding me, right?" Megatron stared in disgust at the compound. "You _actually_ teach younglings in that death trap?" Director Perceptor shrugged impassively. "They're low-caste. Foot soldiers, scouts, drudge work." The new teacher leaned away from the director and motioned to the rust-eaten walls and dank hallways. "It looks like a prison!" Perceptor nodded. "And I suppose it probably feels like a prison to the dumb ones." "The dumb ones." Megatron repeated dully. He couldn't be hearing this, this had to be a nightmare of some kind. His hopes were dashed when the director nodded again. "Yes, I'm afraid some of these "students" won't learn anything but how to respect those in higher ranks. That's about all we expect you to teach them anyway." He led the younger mech down the dirty corridor to a dimly-lit room barely tall enough to fit him and left him there with a stack of datapads that were meant to pass for curriculum.

Megatron held one up between two servos. "Beginning Cybertronian." he read. These were supposed to be mid-level younglings! Surely they were beyond early phonics and spelling? He froze when he heard a scuttling noise. "Please not vermin, please not vermin," he muttered under his breath as he turned around. Luck was not with Megatron that day, for it was a Scraplet. "Fan_tastic_!" he growled. The Scraplet tilted its head, opened its saw-like mouth and launched itself at Megatron's hand. With a cry of disgust, the large mech crushed his servos down around its face, leaving it with an odd horned appearance. He let it fall, and it staggered out the open window with a dazed squeal. "And _stay _out!" Megatron shouted, slamming the window shut. "_Ugh!_" His first job teaching was not off to a good start.

Things didn't get much better when his five students shuffled in. The ones that weren't shy and intimidated were sullen and belligerent, openly backtalking. He started the lesson, but they weren't paying much attention. They didn't seem to be trying at all. Partway through Cybertronian Phonics, Director Perceptor opened the door and shoved three young mechs in. They were dented and dirty, a Trine of Seekers barely old enough to fly. "Watch out for these three," Perceptor remarked loudly, "Street urchins. They'll steal anything you don't have bolted down." With that, he left. Megatron raised an eyebrow and leaned against the holo-board. "Names?" The smallest one shut his optics, pretending he was elsewhere. The middle one glared defiantly at Megatron, and the oldest crossed his arms and coolly replied, "Thundercracker, Starscream and Skywarp." Megatron nodded. "Alright, pick a spot and sit down. We're in the middle of a lesson."

The Trine shared a smirk and sat down in the middle of the floor. The teacher's optics narrowed. "You know full well that's not what I meant. Pick a _desk_ and sit at it." Little Starscream shook his helm triumphantly. "Nuh-uh, Teacher. You said pick a _spot_, so we did!" Megatron set his jaw. "How about no. We're not having this on the first day. Move to a desk, or I'll move you myself." This only seemed to make the Trine more determined not to move. They settled themselves and grinned, calling his bluff. The teacher shrugged. "Mind you, this was your choice." He walked over and grabbed Skywarp and Starscream by the scruff of the neck with one hand, and Thundercracker with the other, and deposited them at desks in the middle of the room. The other students gulped and shrunk a little in their seats. Teacher wasn't fooling around!

None of the students ever wanted to volunteer answers, Megatron found. It was frustrating at times, and he had suspicions that most of them didn't even know basic Cybertronian history. The day passed agonizingly slowly until mid-afternoon when something interesting finally happened. One of the few ground-bound younglings suddenly shrieked and pointed to the window. In a flash, all the younglings were back against the wall in varying states of panic. Megatron glanced out the window and groaned when he saw an angry little vermin trying to gnaw through the transparisteel. "Ah, _Primus._ He's back." Quickly, the teacher attempted to calm the young ones. "Look, everyone! It's our class pet: Bucky the demonic Scraplet!" Opening a compartment in the teacher's kiosk, Megatron pulled out a small device and aimed it at the window. Suddenly, "Bucky" found himself floating helplessly in a void of gravity.

The one who had screamed, a little blue fellow called BR3D_N peeked out from between his servos. "What's _that_?" he asked cautiously. "It's a polarizing ray," Megatron answered calmly, "I stole it from the medic's office." He was met with several exclamations of disbelief. "Nuh-uh, you never!" "Quit lyin', Teacher!" The huge mech pretended to take offense. "I am most certainly not lying! Ratchet's back was turned and I nicked it out of the drawer." There was a stunned silence among the students before Thundercracker quietly exclaimed, "Scraaaap! Teacher's got _nerve!_" Said Teacher grinned and pulled the immobilized Scraplet through the window, shutting it behind him. "Who wants to get a good look at Bucky the Demonic Scraplet?" he asked, "We can count it as science class." Surprisingly, only Starscream and BR3D_N were interested. "What's wrong with his head?" Starscream asked, peering over Megatron's arm, "He don't look like any Scraplet I've ever seen!" "Well, that's because he tried to eat me," Megatron answered. "What'd you do?"

Megatron held up the helpless Scraplet and examined it. "I rearranged his faceplate. Kind of looks like the old Kaonian tribal tattoos, doesn't he?" The students looked confused. "Right," the teacher sighed, "History lesson comes next." Starscream pulled his hand back down to look at "Bucky". "Cool how all his teeth line up," he remarked, "What happens if one of them falls off?" The silver mech crouched next to the small Seeker. "Well, see how he has several rows of teeth? If one falls out, another one will move up to take its place." "Like soldiers?" BR3D_N asked. Megatron frowned. He slipped the furious Scraplet into a containment cube and turned to face his students. "Listen, I know some of you think you're here so you can learn to be good soldiers, or farmers, or whatever you think mechs and femmes of your castes are "supposed" to be. Well, you're going to be disappointed." The Trine crossed their arms in front of their spark chambers and the belligerent ones scowled suspiciously.

Megatron locked his hands behind his back and stalked forward, meeting their optics. "You're all Scraplets, aren't you?" He motioned to one of the shy ones, a higher caste mechling named Knock Out. "You all look harmless, and you're being conditioned to be harmless, but your _processors_-" he leaned down to tap the red youngling's helm, "Are as sharp as Scraplet teeth. Don't pretend they aren't!" The little ones shifted uncomfortably. This was not what they had been expecting to hear! "Teacher, I think you're confused," BR3D_N whispered, "We're not smart, we're in here because we're the dumb ones!" Megatron scowled. "No, you're here because the others are too scared to use this building. _We're_ here because we're the tough ones!" He stopped, thinking, then said, "New rule, kids. "Dumb" is now a swear word. Anyone who says it in my classroom does my paperwork for the evening." This caught the Trine's interest. "Even the Director?" "Even the Director," Megatron promised. "Come the end of the semester, I promise that each of you will know as much as—if not more than—the members of the Council!"

He made good on his word. Every day he observed the younglings as they interacted and learned. As it turned out, BR3D_N had a good processor for paradoxes and logical problems, more so than the rest of the class. It got to the point where he would try to explain a concept, see the blank looks in their optics, and turn to the blue youngling. "Omega's Conundrum: Break it down!" he'd say. After the fifth or sixth occurrence, the students christened their classmate Breakdown—a name he kept the rest of his life. Every so often, Director Perceptor would look into the classroom and shake his helm. "You're wasting your time, Megatron," he'd say, "This lot simply cannot be taught!" _How can they learn if you keep pushing them down?_ Megatron would always think, rebelliously. Perceptor had been right about one thing, though. The Trine had a habit of stealing things that were lying around. One day, Megatron had had enough and followed them through the maze of alleys to find out what they were doing with all his styluses.

He found them in a shabby lean-to at the back of a public house, with old crates for berths. They were trading his office supplies for scraps of energon. All three jumped guiltily when he stepped out of the shadows, but Thundercracker soon bristled and stepped in front of his younger brothers protectively. "What do you want, Teacher?" he growled. Megatron had been going to scold them for abusing his trust, but he looked down and saw the sad optics of Skywarp and the way Starscream couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze. What came out of his mouth was, "You're not sleeping here tonight." He reached down and took their hands in his own and determinedly strode away from the grungy shelter. All three younglings openly gawped at his apartment when he opened the door. "Look at all this _space_!" Skywarp squealed as he danced around the suite's single bedroom. Starscream scuffed his pedes and his wings hung low. "Why would you let a bunch of thieves in your house?" he asked bitterly.

"You're _not _thieves. Not anymore," Megatron said meaningfully. "This is your house too, now. If you need something, you tell me, understand?" Thundercracker cocked his helm curiously. "You actually care, don't you, Teacher?" The silver mech ruffled the neon Seeker's helm. "What, you think I teach you brats because the pay is good?" Skywarp wandered over and picked up an old datapad from the table. "Hey! It's Bucky!" he cried, delighted. Megatron laughed. "No, Skywarp. That's the old Kaon crest, remember from history class?" The little black Seeker pouted. "I liked it better when it was Bucky," he sighed. The "class pet" had met an unfortunate end a few weeks prior when Director Perceptor had found it in its cage and shot it to pieces with a panicked yell. Of course, Megatron had used it as a biology lesson for the semi-traumatized students, but they'd held an impromptu funeral for "Bucky" all the same. They'd seemed to handle it fairly well...except for the part where they reassembled Bucky's husk and put it back in its case. That was a little weird.

When Megatron and the Trine arrived in the nasty old school building for the next class session, they were surprised to see little Knock Out and Breakdown and the three other students wearing makeshift badges in the likeness of the Kaonian crest. "What's going on?" their teacher asked. "We're the Dead Scraplets Convention!" Breakdown announced proudly. Megatron was dumbfounded until it struck him: he'd told his class the story of the "secret society" he, Orion Pax, Dion, and Ariel had formed in their own school when history and higher math fell out of style among teachers. "Oh you _are,_ are you?" Megatron laughed, "Very well, Breakdown: who led the Quintessons against the Planet Eater in the Dark Years?" The solid little mech answered quickly. "Grand Chamberlain Scorponok!" The teacher nodded. "Excellent!" He turned to the only femme in the class, a scrawny little half-Insecticon named Airachnid. "_And you now, my Sire, there on the sad height,/ Curse me, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.*" _He waited expectantly and the student did not disappoint. "_Do not go gentle into that good night./ Rage, rage against the dying of the light.*_"

Megatron's smile widened. He turned to the Trine, who were staring enviously at Knock Out and Breakdown's badges. "Starscream, what are the components that make up Hypergon?" The scientifically-minded youngling squinched up his faceplates in concentration. "Umm...blue energon refined for a decacycle, electrify and add to red energon to stabilize." (**a/n: lol, totally made that up.**) Well, they had a good grasp of history, the arts, and science. Megatron had one last question for the tiny class. "Why doesn't the caste system work?" A hush fell over them. Had Teacher Megatron _really _just asked that? Didn't he know that questioning the Council was treasonous? "Inequality?" Knock Out ventured timidly. "Good, can you expand that a little?" Megatron crouched to be closer to the height of the younglings. "Um...I could grow up to be a politician because my Sire and Carrier are from a higher merchant caste, but I can't ever join the army or work in the Archives," the red youngling said slowly, "But Breakdown can't even go into most of the fancy buildings in the city because he's from a working caste."

"Is that fair?" It was a rhetorical question, but the students answered all the same. "No!" they chorused angrily. "Well, who's going to change it?" he feigned ignorance. Skywarp clenched a tiny fist and thrust it high into the air. "The Dead Scraplets Convention!" Only, he said it so quickly that what everyone heard was, "The Descrappercon!" "What's a Descrappercon?" Airachnid asked. Breakdown patted her arm knowingly. "You heard wrong, 'Rachnid. He said _Decepticon._" One of the other students scratched his helm. "What's a _Decepticon_?" Skywarp, pleased with the new word, nodded importantly. "It's a member of the Dead Scraplets Comvention who fights stuff like the caste system!" he announced. "I wanna be a Decepticon!" the child announced, quickly echoed by his peers. Megatron could only stare in astonishment as it dawned on him that he was witnessing something very, very important. Thundercracker turned pleading optics to him. "Can we be Decepticons, Teacher? You started the Convention, right?" A thousand thoughts ran through the teacher's processor all at once. _I could lose my job for this. Pit, I could be executed for this! Still..."Decepticons" does have a nice ring to it. On the other hand, it _is _treason..._

He looked down at his students, formerly thought of as the dull-witted, the unteachable. _Isn't it time someone fought for them?_ his spark whispered. "All right," he murmured, casting a furtive look at the door, "Come here, all of you." The seven younglings gathered around their teacher solemnly. "I, Megatron of Kaon, swear unto the day I join the Allspark to fight tyranny wherever it surfaces. To uphold honor, to protect the weak, to free the slave, to defend the freedom of all sentient beings, no matter their species. So mote it be." He tipped his helm down. "Now, you." Seven little hands clasped his large one, and seven quiet voices repeated the oath in hushed tones. Megatron smiled gently at them. "I have a feeling that each one of you is going to make history," he said.

"My Decepticons."

* * *

*** quotes taken from "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas**

**Also, I think Bucky the Demonic Scraplet is my new favorite oc. I want one now.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A brief one today: I don't think explanations are needed.**

Compassion

_Cybertron: early days of the War_

He hadn't seen it coming, and that was embarrassing. For a mech who made it his business to know everything and say nothing, Soundwave certainly hadn't predicted the blast radius of Wheeljack's grenades. It was a mistake he would never make again, providing he survived the night. The spy lay on the battlefield gasping. He had sent Laserbeak with a distress signal, but whether or not Megatron would see fit to send help remained to be seen. His own comrades certainly wouldn't come for him unless ordered, and even then he suspected that Starscream would "find" him dead so as to take his place as Megatron's favorite. The prognosis, Soundwave decided, was grim. Down a wing and half-buried by the dead, the crafty Decepticon wasn't going anywhere.

The night wore on into day and still no one came. Soundwave blinked up at the sky unable to move. His energon reserves had been low to begin with, but now he was approaching critical levels. As the sun dipped below the horizon again, Soundwave heard the scavengers rooting among the mass grave and shuddered. He could hear something bigger than a scraplet headed his way and realized that he did not have the energy to fight. Of all the ignominious ways to die, this had to be the top of the list. Suddenly, he was looking up into a pair of wide blue optics. "You're still alive!" a childish voice breathed. Tiny hands began to push and pull at the debris and the bodies that pinned Soundwave down, eliciting the occasional hiss of pain from the fallen mech. "Sorry!" the little one gulped, but then he would resume his work. By the time his torso was free, the spy had noted that his rescuer was a youngling, barely out of sparklinghood. Pale yellow and blue paint covered him, and the visor on his helmet was far too big.

In one arm, the child clutched a "Bucky the Demonic Scraplet©" doll—a Decepticon product, oddly enough—and in the other he held a pry bar. With a grunt of exertion, the little mech pulled the last of the wreckage off of Soundwave's legs. He scrambled up to the wounded mech's helm and helped him sit up. "Come on, the scavengers are gonna be here soon! We gotta get out of here!" Slowly, painfully, Soundwave stood. He cursed his helplessness as he was forced to lean on the youngling for support. The child set his denta in determination and half dragged the spy off the battlefield bit by bit. At last, he came to a bombed-out building and eased the Decepticon down against a wall. "Here we are!" he exclaimed exuberantly, "It's not much, but it'll have to do until your friends come back."

He rooted around for a moment under some fallen sheets of metal before coming up with a cube of energon. "Here," he whispered, holding it out to Soundwave. After nothing happened, he realized that the mech was too weak to even lift his servos. His optics widened. "Um...okay, you have to open your mouth," he said solemnly. Soundwave mustered his fiercest glare, but the youngling was undeterred. "Come on! Do you want this or not?" Desperation won out over pride and the spy opened his mouth grudgingly. Gently, the child poured the liquid energy down Soundwave's throat, always careful not to spill a drop. By the time half of it was gone, Soundwave felt the strength begin to return to his limbs. His helm fell forward and he fixed his optics on the child. "Why?" he rasped. The blue and yellow youngling knew what he was asking: why would an Autobot—or neutral—stop to aid an injured Decepticon? He shrugged and sat down next to Soundwave. "Cuz you were hurt." he said simply. "My Carrier said that in civil war, there are no sides. Only casualties."

By morning, the blue-opticed sparkling was gone, but Soundwave remained in the makeshift shelter until Laserbeak found him and squawked triumphantly. Moments later, Megatron himself entered the wreckage to Bridge him to a med bay. The warlord didn't ask how he'd managed to pull himself to the building, and Soundwave never told.

_Earth, many years later_

Hot Shot had never been in so much pain before. On a solo scouting mission, he'd rolled straight into an ambush and been beaten within an inch of his life. If he rolled his dented helm to the side, he could see his arm, independent of him, laying on the rocks a few feet away. Energon leaked from a hundred abrasions across his armor. He'd sent a distress call, but no one had come yet. He bit his lip. What if no one ever came? What if he offlined out here and no one ever knew? He tried to move his leg and yelped in pain. So, apparently his arm wasn't the only AWOL limb. The young Autobot whimpered and settled back to the ground. Prowl probably wouldn't come to help him, he decided, not when they'd had a fight that morning. And Optimus wouldn't even know, since he was out with the soldiers in some desert somewhere. A coolant tear trickled from the corner of Hot Shot's optic. Dramatically, he sighed and guessed that at least the humans would miss him if he died. It was probably only a matter of time anyway before some Decepticon came along to finish him off.

He did not have to wait long. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the _snap/hiss_ of a Ground Bridge. "Hey! Somebody!" he called out weakly, "Help!" His shouts died in his throat when a cold, black visor filled his vision. The Autobot's optics widened with fright and he shut his mouth. Well, this was it: he was dead. The infamous Decepticon observed him silently for a moment, then moved to pick up the detached arm. He appeared to examine it with interest for a moment, then reached down and grabbed the shattered leg. Hot Shot wondered—with a trace of nausea—if the spy was taking them as trophies. Soundwave bound the arm and leg together with loose wire and slung them over his wings. Then, he bent down and scooped the prone Autobot into his arms. Hot Shot's spark very nearly stopped as he tried to figure out what was going on. As near as he could guess, he was probably being taken back to the Decepticon fort to be tortured and questioned. He gulped.

The expressionless faceplate turned downwards to meet his terrified gaze, then lifted again as the tall mech began to walk. A Bridge appeared before them and Hot Shot shuttered his optics as they moved through the portal. As he was preparing himself for a dungeon or laboratory or something equally awful, he realized that they had stopped moving. One optic opened, then the other in astonishment. Soundwave knelt and gently deposited Hot Shot before the doors of the Ark, then removed the arm and leg from his back and placed them beside the young warrior. "W-why did you help me?" he gasped. The spy tilted his helm to the side, and a guttural voice echoed from beneath the mask. "No sides, only casualties." With that, he transformed and rocketed away, leaving a dumbfounded Autobot behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**I was given charge of a young student recently. Friends, I do believe that child is actively ****_trying_**** to melt my heart! Therefore, I have echoed my young friend's mannerisms into the child who appears in this one-shot (though his age and name have been changed for privacy reasons).**

**This takes place within the same continuity of the one-shots "The Name" and "The Council".**

Camaraderie

The playground was nearly empty. Evidently, a light dusting of rain was cause enough to hibernate indoors with a bowl of cereal and cartoons. There couldn't have been more than three families at the park that afternoon. One was a young couple doting on their raincoat-clad toddler, who strangled their fingers in his chubby grasp as he hopped from puddle to puddle. "Not so fast dear, you'll get wet dear, Wait for Mommy and Daddy, dear." Across the sodden sandbox, a thin, tired woman huddled miserably under her umbrella with her iPhone while her four children shrieked noisily as they chased each other _up_ the slides. When one inevitably fell down and began to cry, the mother would glance up to be sure that no one was seriously hurt, and return to her phone with a cautionary, "Play _nice_!" Every now and again, she and the young couple would cast mildly anxious looks at the lone figure on the other bench.

Tall, broad-shouldered, grizzled and scarred—he hardly seemed the type to frequent a playground. The shiny black Topkick truck parked behind him on the curb looked less like a family vehicle and more like an _assault_ vehicle in the tired woman's opinion. Of course she didn't want to _judge. _Nobody wanted to _judge_. Still, all adults relaxed imperceptibly when the imposing man cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, "Not so high, Annie! Not so high!" Wary glances melted into amused understanding when a high pitched voice responded, "I not a baby, Unca Hyde! I do it myself!" A second child's voice chimed in after. "Be _careful_, you'll _fall_!" A little boy belonging neither to the young couple nor the tired woman leaned on the ladder behind little Annabelle. The three-year-old looked down to tell him that she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but then she realized that she _was_ rather high off the ground.

Her little eyes widened and the beginnings of a shriek built up in her throat. A woman leaning on a tree called out to them. "Daiqwan, can you help her the rest of the way up?" He bobbed his curly head and took a step up. "It's okay," he reassured the little girl, "I won't let you fall!" Annabelle bit her lip and moved one wobbly sneaker to the next slippery rung. "I fall! I fall!" she squeaked. Daiqwan moved up behind her. "Nuh-uh! You're doin' great!" The man on the park bench settled back down, satisfied that his young charge was in no danger. The woman who had called out to the boy walked over, arms crossed against the Autumn chill. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked. The man shrugged, but slid over. The woman chuckled as she watched Annabelle and Daiqwan reach the top of the platform and yell, "We did it!" while doing a victory dance. "What is it with kids and trying dangerous stunts?" she wondered aloud.

Her companion smirked. "I think they're just wired that way. I caught Annie on top of the fridge this morning—I just about crashed!" She groaned and pushed wet bangs from her face. "Thank God, Daiqwan hasn't done _that_ yet. Although, I _did_ wake up one morning to find him playing checkers with the new neighbors...whom he had invited in while I was asleep." she grimaced. "Kid doesn't know a stranger, unfortunately." For several minutes, the two sat there comparing stories of unruly children. He learned that her name was Chris, and that the five year old boy chattering animatedly to Annabelle was her foster son. She learned that his name was Hyde and that he was looking after his little niece while her father was overseas and her mother was at a conference. On the top of the jungle gym, Daiqwan and Annabelle were in the midst of a Very Important Operation: who could hold their breath the longest. Hyde glanced over at Chris, who was watching the young pair with a fond smile on her face. "Your face changed when I said Annie's dad was in the military." he observed.

Chris started. "You noticed that?" She sighed wistfully. "Daiqwan's daddy was killed in action overseas when the Soccent base was destroyed. Daiqwan was only a year old." Now it was Hyde's turn to be surprised. "Soccent? In Qatar?" The woman did not answer at first, then she nodded distractedly. She was watching a slight drama unfolding on the playground before them. Daiqwan and Annabelle had come down to the sandbox only for one of the other four children to suddenly snatch the little boy's blue truck from his hands and hold it over his head. "Little punk!" Hyde growled under his breath. At the same time, Annabelle's round face puckered into a frown. "Give it back, Punk!" she stamped her foot. Hyde looked sheepish. "Oops." Chris observed the altercation with concern, but did not move to interfere. "That's not yours!" Daiqwan declared. The older boy stuck his tongue out at Daiqwan and waved the truck tauntingly.

The boy stared back at his tormentor with serious brown eyes, then turned and took Annabelle's hand. "Come on, Annie." Together, they left the sandbox and walked up to Hyde and Chris. "Aren't you going to get your truck back?" the big man asked. Daiqwan shrugged his narrow shoulders. "S'not worth it." Hyde frowned. "What do you mean? You gonna let that little punk push you around, kid?" Daiqwan tugged on Chris's sleeve. "That boy's clothes are _really_ old, Mom. Maybe he doesn't have any trucks to play with at home. I guess he can have mine." "Oh honey," Chris sighed. Hyde hoisted Annabelle up onto his hip and raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't like confrontations?" he asked. Chris shook her head. "He just started doing this." She shrugged. "I don't know. He met an old man in the park a few months ago who told him...what did he say again, honey?" Daiqwan pulled his coat closer. "He said sometimes it's braver to be nice to somebody mean than to fight back."

Annie raised her head from Hyde's shoulder. "Kalat'sa says that!" The little boy blinked, bewildered. "_Who_ says that?" The preschooler rolled her eyes. "_Kalat'sa_! You know, T'o't's T'o't?" Daiqwan and Chris stared blankly at her. "Use English, Annie," Hyde reminded her gently. He grinned apologetically. "We oughta be goin'. It was nice meeting you, Chris." He strode to the black pickup truck and slipped the girl inside. "Bye, Annie!" Daiqwan yelled. "Bye 'Qwan!" Annabelle's muffled voice came from the truck's interior. Hyde disappeared around the side of the vehicle and the lights abruptly came on. Daiqwan frowned as the truck pulled away from the curb. Maybe he was just too short to see, but it didn't look like there was a driver! He looked up, but Chris was staring too. "Mom," he said cautiously, "Are giant robots real?" He remembered the pointy thing calling itself "Fallen" or something taking over their t.v a few months before. Didn't that thing say there were giant robots that turned into cars or something? Chris stuttered wordlessly for several moments. "Uh...let's go, baby. You can pick out another truck at the store, what do you think?" Daiqwan slipped his hand into hers and smiled. "Only if it turns into a robot, Mom."

**Oh ****_scrap_****, I gotta go, guys. My sister is making Bumblebee and Airachnid dance ballet. She literally just said, "Take one for the team, 'Bee, or else Orion's dancing!" Optimus says no. Very much no. Actually, ****_Aspen_**** says no. What the—she's trying to make Hot Shot "riverdance". I need to put a stop to the madness, sorry, the one-shot ends here.**

* * *

**I'm back...and I couldn't stop her from making my Transformers look ridiculous. The only ones she left alone were Optimus and Rodimus (out of respect, I presume). Yeesh. Starscream and Predaking are doing some sort of weird 80s dance...**

**Ok, ****_moving on_****. **

**Another one-shot set in the live-action movie 'verse. (Because every time I watch the movies, I can't help thinking that ****_somebody_**** ought to wipe the smirk off the standard-issue-obnoxious-government-person's face.) Because Charlotte Mearing irritated me greatly.**

Solidarity

The soldiers in Diego Garcia had their own special code for Director Mearing. It hadn't been difficult to convince Ironhide to teach them the Cybertronian word for "harpy", and they had been exceedingly amused to learn that the proper Iaconian vocal pattern corresponding to the word sounded an awful lot like "Cruella deVil". Around the corridors, it became fairly common to hear an Autobot or human whistling five rising notes as a warning that the unpleasant woman was approaching. Luckily, Mearing was no connoisseur of Disney films, and had no idea what the tune meant. She only knew that it referred to _her_, and since it was coming from N.E.S.T., it must automatically be either insulting or overwhelmingly stupid. Charlotte had been avoiding Optimus Prime for the last several days. She would never admit it, of course, but his display of indignation over the secrets her government kept had unnerved her.

The five-beat whistle echoed down the hallway before her, and she could hear a rush of movement as whoever was in the mess halls grouped together. Safety in numbers, after all. It amused Mearing that whenever she interacted with the soldiers—which was as little as possible—they tended to stand in little bands with the younger members insulated in the middle. They behaved like a herd, for crying out loud! The Director stormed into the central command center and very nearly gaped openly. Witwicky was back. Had she not _expressly _forbidden his involvement in N.E.S.T. activities? The boy stood on a catwalk with Lt. Colonel Lennox, speaking very rapidly. Behind him, his civilian girlfriend was holding Lennox's _five year old daughter_! Well, Charlotte thought, why not go invite somebody's _gramma_ while they were at it? And maybe the whole dang city! "Wittakee—" she was cut off by all four of the humans on the walkway. "_Witwicky_!" She scowled. "I honestly don't care. _You_ on the other hand, had _better_ have a really good reason for countermanding my orders."

Witwicky was infuriatingly calm, very unlike their first meeting. "This isn't peacetime, Director. The rules are a little different now." Under his peaceful facade, however, Mearing could see glimpses of his insecurity. She could use that. "What, had to come back and play _hero_?" she snarled, "Had to show off in front of the little princess?" Annabelle tilted her head to the side. "Why's Sam gotta show off for me?" she asked innocently, nearly undoing Mearing's efforts to provoke the young man. She needed him angry: if he was angry, then she had the higher ground and could bully him into leaving. "I've made my point clearly before. You're not doing anyone any favors pretending to be an Autobot: you're just the boy with the special car." Sam's eyes smoldered a frightening electric blue, but he said nothing. This may have had something to do with Will's death grip on his arm. "_Je,_ Sam," he cautioned, shaking his head. Mearing turned her sights on the Lt. Colonel. "Use real words when you're talking to humans, soldier," she sniffed, "I'm already questioning your intelligence, don't make it worse. I mean, _clearly_ you have some sort of hearing problem because I _distinctly_ remember saying that Witikee was not allowed in this base!"

"It's not your base!" Annabelle piped up, "It's the Autobots' base!" Charlotte leveled her iciest glare at the little girl. "Colonel, control your young." The child stuck her nose in the air. "Ironhide is scarier than you." she said with conviction. "Is that so?" Mearing rounded on Sam and Will again. "Well, _Ironhide_ isn't here right now, is he? And neither is Prime. So, chain of command works the way _I _say it works until they get back. If they come back." The two men did not even flinch as she began to verbally shred them, systematically targeting the boy's insecurities over his place in N.E.S.T. Neither was getting angry—her attempts were failing. Charlotte Mearing _hated_ failure. She was still nagging at them when the Autobots returned from their scouting mission and reported that Sentinel Prime had asked for time to observe humanity separate from the base. Optimus did not seem to be as upset as he had been before, but he was not pleased to see the Director. "Kalat'sa!" Annabelle squealed, holding her arms out for the colossal robot. Optimus smiled and took her from Carly. "Have you behaved yourself?" he asked quietly.

Mearing could not believe her eyes. Not only were there civilians on base, but the Autobots were just going to interact with them like old friends? Not on her watch! "You." she pointed at Witwicky, who was very close to cracking. "Take the blonde and get out of here. You can expect legal trouble over this later. You—" she turned to Lennox, "Get your kid and send her home. If I ever see her around here again, I'm calling CPS on you." Behind her, Carly turned a pleading look to Ironhide, letting him know that this had been going on for close to an hour. Further down the walkway, Optimus was attempting to brief Keller and the rest of the higher-ranked officials on the newest developments, but Charlotte's shrill screech droned on in the background. The Secretary of Defense winced sympathetically onscreen as the normally emotionless Director of Intelligence devolved to insults: the soldiers' refusal to react had finally gotten under her skin. A quick glance to the end of the gantry showed that Sam looked utterly defeated and William was shouting right back with equal fervor. It was probably a good thing that Ironhide had taken Annabelle to go play outside.

The tirade continued, distracting the men and women being debriefed to the point where none of them heard a word the Prime said. They marveled at the woman's nerve, and most of them secretly hoped that something would happen to shut her up, having been on the receiving end of her sharp tongue before. Mearing was too full of herself anyway. At last, she went too far. She smugly told Lennox to collect his things and be off the base by morning, then coldly told Sam, "I shouldn't have to tell you the same. You never belonged here to begin with!"

Then something happened that no one expected: Optimus Prime lost his patience with a human.

"Director Mearing!" he thundered, "Kindly stop harassing my sons!"

In the silence that followed, a pin's drop would have sounded like a gun shot. "I beg your pardon?" she asked. Optimus took several seconds to calm himself, then carefully lifted a thick file from the humans' workstation with two servos. "Samuel, I need you to take this to Ratchet," he said, holding the papers out to the boy. "Aahro, T'o't," Witwicky took the bundle and slipped down the stairs with Carly in tow. Lennox nodded gratefully at the Prime. "In N.E.S.T., we are a _family_, Director," the voice was serene, but Mearing was not about to forget that this was a being who could easily flatten her. "You are certainly fortunate that Samuel's guardian was not present. He would not have taken your comments lightly." Mearing belatedly attempted to regain her composure. "Are you threatening me, Prime?" A huge metal hand grasped the railing as the Prime leaned in closely, optics narrowed. "_No_, Director. If I were threatening you, I would have said that if I ever find you harassing or attempting to harm _any_ of my sons or daughters, I will have you permanently ejected from Diego Garcia."

From behind them, on the viewscreen, a senator shouted, "Yes, _please_!" The secluded group chuckled, as did Colonel Lennox. He sobered quickly when Optimus sent him a stern glance. "Surely I do not need to remind you that we are all _allies_?" The humans cleared their throats and looked everywhere but at the Autobot. "_Je_, T'o't. I'm sorry, T'o't," Will muttered, flushing. Mearing pointedly ignored everyone, waiting for attention to return to the robot so she could slip out unnoticed. Optimus sighed. "I am certain that this will not happen again?" Lennox and Mearing shook their heads rapidly. The Prime dipped his helm. "Thank you." He turned back to finish informing the officials about the state of affairs, then glanced back. "William." Lennox cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to the Director. "I apologize for shouting at you, ma'am," he said stiffly, "I was out of line." The severe woman edged away towards the stairs. "I may have been somewhat..._hasty_...in my judgment," she grumbled, "But Witwicky is still a civilian." Before anyone could retort, she somehow managed to rapidly exit the room without running.

Keller watched Optimus with interest. "You know, I think that's the first time I've seen you lose your temper, Prime." he remarked. Optimus nodded apologetically. "It has been a ...trying week for us all." He glanced up to where Lennox still stood and his optics softened a little. The slight tilt of his helm saw the human visibly relax. He knew Optimus's body language well enough to know he wasn't in trouble. "Lt. Colonel," Keller called, "Not to change the subject, but was that your daughter who left earlier with Ironhide?" Will cringed. "I know, I probably shouldn't have her on the base, but Sarah's at work and I didn't have anywhere else for her to go." The older man smiled benignly. "Oh, I wasn't going to argue that. No, I don't think anyone's going to fuss about who stays and who goes around here." he shot Optimus a meaningful look. "So, tell me about this "family" of yours, Prime." Optimus smiled.

**Because I figured that if the soldiers call Optimus "dad" long enough, sooner or later he's going to respond in kind.**


	14. Chapter 14

**So, this adorable "what-if" came from the amazing Foxbear, and I'm going to try to do it justice It's a tad long, I grant you, but I hope you'll like it.**

25 Weeks

"Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" The words were accompanied by a gentle kiss. The woman giggled and pushed at her husband's face. "Ack! I think I just kissed a bear! Go shave." Agent Jackson Darby pretended to take offense. "Are you kidding? It took me long enough to grow this out!" A flutter of movement brushed against his jacket and he smiled. "See? He agrees with me." Jack trailed his fingers gently across Miko's very pregnant belly. "You be nice to Mommy, Orion," he whispered lovingly, "Daddy has to go to work, okay?" The childish delight in his eyes when the baby kicked in response melted Miko's heart and made her remember why she'd fallen in love with this man. She stood on her tiptoes to wrap a scarf around Jack's neck. "You're sitting in on the Weems trial today, aren't you?" He nodded. "It's pretty obvious to Unit E that Hauser's men were set up, but unfortunately the brass don't seem to see it."

Miko kissed his cheek. "Yeah? Well don't let Flint push you around. If he gets crabby, just remember that I've heard him scream like a girl." She looked very proud of herself. "Miko, you're the _reason_ he screamed like a girl." her husband teased. Miko stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, if you're going to anger a Wrecker..." she let the sentence hang, and Jack finished it with one of Senior Agent Roberts's favorite sayings. "If you're gonna be dumb, ya gotta be tough." His eyes softened. "Miko..." he said again, "Are you _sure_ you'll be alright while I'm gone? I know you hate being out of the action—" His wife interrupted him with a snort. "Babe, I got plenty of excitement going on with this kid camping out in my midsection." She gently poked her stomach. "He's going to be a Wrecker for sure, with the way he's been kicking. Or an insomniac. Probably both." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Go do Optimus-things, Babe. We'll be here when you get back—if Ratchet hasn't confined us to Med Bay."

Jack kissed his wife, then bent down and kissed her pregnant stomach. "Bye, Orion," he grinned. Then, straightening his suit, he slipped out the door to the waiting helicopter. "Mornin' Jack." "Morning, Bill." Little else could be heard over the roar of the chopper as it left for Washington, leaving behind the Air Force base that was home for the Darby family. Miko watched from the window, one hand ildy caressing the bulge that was her unborn son. "Three more months, Sweetspark," she crooned. "Then you get to meet all your uncles!" Her watched beeped: a calendar reminder. The woman sighed and shuffled back to her bedroom. Check-up with Ratchet, oh joy. "I guess this means we can't wear our pajamas anymore," she remarked to the baby. She smiled. She and Jack had been talking to the child nearly from the moment he was conceived, but it was all the more special to them now, because now he could _hear _them. Miko yawned and changed into loose, comfortable clothes. "Come on, Orion. We have to go visit Ratchet now, and he's going to run the scanner on us. Remember the scanner? It tickles a little, but it's nothing to worry about." She kept up a steady stream of chatter as she grabbed a protein shake from their tiny refrigerator and slid into the elevator that took her downstairs into the Unit E base.

(meanwhile, downstairs)

Wheeljack, Ultra Magnus, and Bulkhead listened intently as the Autobot CMO lectured them on human child development. "You'll all have to watch your mouths from this point on, _Wheeljack_, because Jack and Miko's child can hear things outside the womb now." Ratchet announced, throwing a venomous glare at the Wrecker. "What?" he shrugged in feigned innocence. "Wait, can he _understand_ us?" Bulkhead seemed excited by the idea. "Well, I don't know about understanding, but he'll learn to recognize your voice if you talk to him enough. I dare say he already knows his Sire and Carrier's voices." Bulkhead and Wheeljack shot each other excited glances. Well _that_ made waiting three more months _much_ more bearable! Neither one noticed Ultra Magnus quietly sneak out the door. So, the Littlest Wrecker could hear them, could he? Well, Primus only knew what kind of nonsense Wheeljack was going to fill his tiny cranium with. Magnus decided he was going to nip it in the bud and set some things straight with the boy. He found Miko in the rec room grimacing over her protein shake and talking to her baby. "I know, I know you hate it. Mommy hates it too. Still, we have to get extra vitamins into you because you're so _little_!"

Ultra Magnus marveled at the gentle coo coming from the normally brash and outspoken Wrecker. Sparklings really did change a mech—or rather, femme. "Good morning, Miko, Orion." He ducked to fit through the doorway and smiled in greeting. "Mornin', Chief!" the woman waved a hand. "Is the Hatchet busy? I'm supposed to go in for a check-up at some point today, but thankfully he didn't specify when." Oh he didn't? All the better! Magnus offered a hand and Mrs. Darby eased herself onto the broad surface slowly. Gingerly, the Commander brought his hand level with his spark chamber and cupped his other hand around the two humans protectively. "Ratchet tells me that Orion is beginning to recognize voices?" he asked coyly. Miko laughed aloud. "And you want him to recognize you. I get it, Commander." Sheepishly, the large mech shuttered his optics. "Well, I was more worried about him hearing wild tales from the other Wreckers." _Particularly Wheeljack_. He did not relish the idea of the child hearing stories where the commander of the Wreckers was painted in a humiliating light.

Miko snorted. "Well, you may as well start now." Ultra Magnus paused, suddenly unsure. "What am I to say?" he asked, sounding lost. "Anything! Just talk to him like you would to any kid." If he could have, the Autobot would have flushed self-consciously. "Hello, Orion. This is Ultra Magnus. How are you?" The woman held a hand to her abdomen and grinned. "He's kicking in time to your spark pulse. A little uncomfortable, but kinda cute." Magnus looked around to be sure there were no witnesses, then bent his helm to whisper, "Don't believe anything Wheeljack tells you! I knew the hole was there the entire time!" Miko raised an eyebrow. "Do what now? I never heard this one." The normally stoic Wrecker cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away. "You were on your honeymoon." Miko settled herself more comfortably in the massive hand. "Well, out with it! What happened?"

"_Optics open, Wreckers. That energon reading is coming from about fifty yards away." Behind the stern Autobot, Wheeljack elbowed Bulkhead and grinned. "Nice to be back in Scotland, isn't it?" "No." Bulkhead groaned, "If we're here much longer, I'm going to rust!" Ultra Magnus frowned. "Stop complaining, soldiers. The sooner we find the source of the spike, the sooner we return to the base." They continued to march in single file, with Bulkhead and Wheeljack complaining behind Magnus. The trail ended at a long stretch of water. "Wha? Where's the energon?" Wheeljack looked around in confusion. Bulkhead edged away from the water. "Uh, Boss? Isn't this that place that's supposed to have a monster in it?" The Commander shook his helm pityingly. "Bulkhead, that's a tale the humans invented to keep their young ones out of the water. There are no such things as monsters."_

_Ignoring his fellow Wreckers' protests and warnings, Ultra Magnus waded into the shallows, waving the scanning device. A thick fog had rolled in over the loch, obscuring everything but the glow of their optics. "Hey Chief? Don't you think we'd better head back?" Wheeljack squinted into the vapor. "Nonsense, Wheeljack. We have a job to do," Ultra Magnus scolded. Suddenly, the grenade-loving Wrecker shrieked. Like a femme. Or maybe a sparkling. "LOCH NESS MONSTER!" he screamed, pointing into the fog. In his haste to get out of the water, he rammed into Ultra Magnus, sending the poor Commander helm-first into the murky depths and causing him to lose his footing. He slipped down into a deep hole in the shallows, where he conveniently found the source of the energon reading. When a local man with a winch and a cable managed to haul the Wrecker out of the loch he discovered that the "Loch Ness Monster" had been nothing of the kind._

Miko's sides ached as she tried to stop laughing. Somehow, she had a feeling that that wasn't _quite_ what had happened. "Oh wow, Chief. I would've paid good money for some snaps of that!" Magnus grimaced and carried the woman and child out of the rec room and into the med bay. "Ah!" Ratchet looked far too pleased with himself. "You're just in time! I've updated the scanning process, so we should be able to get a good look at the sparkling today!" "Yay." Miko groaned unenthusiastically, "More scans." Ultra Magnus chuckled and gently deposited his precious cargo onto the medical berth. "I must be about my duties," he said apologetically, "But I will see you both later." Miko made a face at him. "You're squeamish!" she accused playfully. The Commander did not answer verbally, but the shudder that shook his frame when Ratchet picked up the scanner told her all she needed to know. Miko laughed and waved him off.

The scans tickled, just like she remembered. This time, however, she was too distracted to think of the sensation. On the screen above her, an image was taking form or a tiny being curled into a ball. Little Orion's arms and legs were still very thin, and his head took up most of the space, but Miko could have cried because her child was beautiful. The scans were detailed enough that she could see his tiny eyelashes fluttering as he slept, and his right thumb was jammed into his mouth. "Uh-oh. Bad habits already!" Ratchet groused, pointing out the thumb-sucking. Miko rubbed her stomach ruefully. "Nah, he started that last month." The medic shook his helm in mock scolding. "Well you'll just have to stop that, young master Darby! It's bad for your teeth." He went on to check Miko's health, then released them with the proviso that she take things easy for the rest of the day.

The pregnant woman shuffled out of the med bay and nearly walked into Bulkhead's foot. "Oh, er, _hi_ Miko! And Orion. Hi Orion." He sounded guilty. "Bulk, were you waiting for me?" Miko beamed up at him. "Yeah," he admitted with a sigh. "I thought you might want to get off the grounds for a little while. Maybe hit the town?" A distraction from the boring, uniform grey of the Unit E base may not have had Ratchet's approval, but it was just what the doctor ordered for Miko. Her guardian transformed and popped open the side door. "Easy," he warned as she climbed in. Mrs. Darby made a face at him. "Bulk, we're not made of glass. We can still get in and out of cars. Wait another two months. _Then_ we'll see whether or not I can still move." After a little difficulty with the seatbelt, they drove out of the base at a very cautious speed. Miko sighed and leaned her forehead against the window. "Remember when we used to go tearing out of here like maniacs?" she grinned. "Funny how kids change things, isn't it?" Bulkhead laughed through the radio. "That's kinda how we felt when you and Jack and Raf wandered into Outpost Omega for the first time!"

"Hey!" Miko slightly slapped the dashboard. She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. Then, something occurred to her. "Soooo...Bulkhead. What happened in Scotland while Jack and I were on our honeymoon?" she fluttered her eyelashes and tried to look harmlessly curious. Bulkhead's frame shook with mirth. "Oh, you heard about _that?_ Yeah, it was pretty funny. I still think I got some rust out there, though." Miko leaned forward as much as possible. "Well, are you going to tell us?"

_"__Well, come on fellows. That energon reading is coming from somewhere around here." Ultra Magnus glared up at the sky as if personally blaming it for the nasty weather conditions. Wheeljack sighed and kicked at a small boulder. "Nice to be back in Scotland, isn't it?" he muttered sardonically. "No," Bulkhead groaned, "I think I'm rusting!" Magnus shrugged sympathetically and waved his scanner through the mist. "It's no use complaining, soldier. The sooner we find that spike, the sooner we can go home. I think Miko should be back from her trip by then." The trail ended at a long stretch of dark water. "Well," Wheeljack rolled his shoulders, "Let's get searching." Bulkhead remembered the stories about this place, and all the photographs Miko had shown him. He began to feel a little uneasy. "Uh, Boss?" he asked, edging away from the water, "Are you sure this water's safe? Looks questionable to me." _

_"__Nonsense, Bulkhead," Ultra Magnus said boldly, "There aren't any monsters in Loch Ness, that's just a legend!" He ignored Wheeljack and Bulkhead's warnings and waded into the shallows. Wheeljack shrugged and followed him in. "I don't know, guys," Bulkhead called, "Miko said her sources were pretty accurate about this." "Well then, we'll be careful!" Wheeljack called over his shoulder. Suddenly, a thick fog rolled in. Nothing could be seen but their optics. Bulkhead sighed and waded into the loch at a point somewhat further down the bank than his fellow Wreckers. He scanned the water when suddenly he looked up to see a dark shape in the mist before him. "Waugh!" he yelped. Somewhere in the vapor, he heard Wheeljack scream, "LOCH NESS MONSTER!" and there was a crash, followed by a splash, as Wheeljack tackled him. He blinked, "Wait, oh. Sorry Bulk." He stood back up and looked around. "Chief?" Silence. "Chiiiief?" Still, no answer. Finally, their comms buzzed and a waterlogged voice growled, "Get your tailpipe down here and help me out of this hole, bolts-for-brains!"_

As before, Miko found herself clutching her sides—even more so this time, as apparently Orion thought this version was funnier than the last one. "Oh gosh, the baby!" Miko breathed, "He's _laughing_! I can feel his body moving!" "Yesss!" Bulkhead's childish declaration of triumph set Miko into hysterics again until they reached the grocery store. It was a slow ride back, with Bulkhead keeping up a long one-sided conversation with Orion about life in general. When they returned to the base, the green Wrecker tenderly placed his charge(s) on the couch in the human's rec room so she could rest. "See ya later, Bulk," the woman yawned, "This kid is wearing me out!" Before long, she was out cold, breathing deeply. Bulkhead tiptoed away so as not to wake her. No sooner had he left the room than Wheeljack crept in stealthily. Blue optics peeped over the back of the couch. "Psst! Hey buddy, it's Uncle Jackie!" he hissed, "Wanna hear a funny story? Of course you do!"

_"__Ugh! Blasted human weather. What sort of planet has moisture fall from the atmosphere?!" Ultra Magnus whined as he scanned for the energon spike that had drawn them to the stormy countryside. Walking behind the miserable semi truck, Wheeljack admired the scenery and elbowed Bulkhead with a grin. "It's nice to be back in Scotland, isn't it?" He was thinking of the last time they'd been there, when Miko beat the scrap out of Starscream. "No," Bulkhead moaned, "I'm going to rust!" "No you're not," Wheeljack laughed, "Come on, let's go find that energon." For once, the Commander agreed with him. "The sooner we find the surge, the sooner we can go home!" he snapped. The trail ended at a long, dark stretch of water. "That's odd," Wheeljack murmured. "Wha? Where's the energon?" Ultra Magnus looked around, confused. "Well," Wheeljack shrugged, "Let's get searching!" He waded bravely into the cold waters, even when Bulkhead edged away nervously. "Uh, guys? Isn't there supposed to be a monster or something living in this lake? Miko showed me the pictures."_

_Well, if Miko believed it was there, then Wheeljack was going to be careful! Ultra Magnus snorted. "There are no such things as monsters, soldier!" he declared, and marched into the shallows behind Wheeljack. Suddenly, a heavy fog rolled in over the loch, obscuring everything but their optics. Wheeljack squinted and looked around. Something wasn't quite right, he was sure of it! That's when he saw it: a huge beast with glowing red eyes and a long neck, coming straight for them. "Look out!" the grenade-loving Wrecker shouted, pushing Ultra Magnus out of the way as the monster charged. Boldly, Wheeljack fought with the monster, driving it away from the shallows with a well-aimed kick. Bulkhead screamed from somewhere in the fog and Wheeljack tackled the Loch Ness Monster, saving both the other Wreckers! He hopped on Nessie's back and said, "Now look here, Nessie: we've got a lot of Loch to search and you're going to help us! And you're not going to give us any trouble, right?" Mutely, Nessie shook her head no. And she gave the Wreckers a ride to shore, then swam away to pull Ultra Magnus out of the hole he'd fallen into when he tried to run to shore._

"Wheeljack?" an incredulous voice from the doorway had the Wrecker start like a guilty thing. Jack leaned on the doorpost with an amused smirk. "I didn't know you tamed the Loch Ness Monster, 'Jackie." The Wrecker rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly. "Yeahhh..._about_ that." The human shook his head with a soft smile and pushed himself off the doorway to wander over to the couch. He eased himself down on the cushions and placed a hand on his sleeping wife's stomach. Mech and man alike beamed when the skin visibly moved as a tiny hand pressed itself towards his. "Hey!" Jack said in a quiet, high-pitched voice, "There's my boy! Were you good for Mommy today?" Wheeljack backed out of the room silently, unwilling to intrude on the father's time with Orion. "Daddy had a rough day, kiddo. The army is going to hunt down some friends of his, even though they didn't do anything wrong." He sighed. "Sometimes, Orion, life isn't fair. Sometimes the bad guys get away, and sometimes the good guys have to run and hide. Sometimes the good guy is forced to make hard decisions." He bent down to kiss Miko's stomach. "But don't worry, son. Just like your namesake, I already know that you will always do the right thing."

"Jack?" Miko's sleepy voice interrupted him. "Ah! Busted!" Agent Darby chuckled. Miko rubbed her eyes and smiled up at her husband. "I figured it was you. He always moves more when you're here." Jack's eyes shone. "Really?" The woman scooted over slightly on the couch to make room for him. He wrapped his arms around her and settled back into the cushions. He sighed. "I wish Optimus could have met Orion," he said softly. Miko laid her head on his chest. "He knew about him, Babe." Jack blinked. "What?" His wife looked up at him. "I was talking to him, just before they all went back to Cybertron. He figured us out a long time before we did," she grinned. "I asked him if I could name my first son Orion. I only suggested the name to you because he said yes." Jack was dumbstruck for several minutes and cleared his throat conspicuously to change the subject.

"Wheeljack is trying to convince our son that he tamed the Loch Ness Monster." he remarked humorously. "Aww! I missed his side of the story?!" Miko pouted into Jack's shirt. "His_ side?_ What's the rest of it?" Miko snuggled closer to her husband and giggled. "Well, when we were on our honeymoon on Praxis, the Wreckers got sent to Scotland during a rainstorm to search for an energy spike..."

**A beginning.**


	15. Chapter 15

**My sister brought up the idea the other day of "what if the shows we see are just the parts that take place in ****_that_**** country?" She asked me then to write a one-shot incorporating a phrase she has recently picked up, "Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile". I added her absolute favorite character into the mix, so here. This is for my sister.**

The Navigator

The pod hurtled through the atmosphere, inexorably drawn to the surface of the little blue planet. Its occupant braced for impact and prayed to whatever deity had created the organic sphere for a safe landing. The panels began to hiss and glow in the friction of reentry as the small craft hurtled towards a vibrantly green island in the northern hemisphere.

Mairead poked her head out the window and watched the shooting star with childish delight. She'd never seen a comet in County Meath before! The little girl gawped as the star landed with a loud boom. That was right up at the old Abbey! Mairead ducked back into her room and pulled a pair of wellies over her woolen socks, then shrugged on a knit jumper. She clambered over the window seat and out into the garden, torch in hand.

In the darkness, she pelted up the road with her breath forming little clouds around her curls. She reached the ancient Abbey of Kells quite winded and gasping for air, but still standing. Mairead followed the glow of superheated metal and gasped, ducking behind the stone wall. Something huge and black raised its hand from the crater with a piteous moan. It was _gigantic_!

Suddenly, it turned its head and a pair of glowing blue eyes found her green ones. To her surprise, a fairly young voice said, "Hello there, Earth femme." Mairead jumped with a squeak, then decided it would be rude not to answer. "Oh! Dia duit, Spaceman!" The metal giant appeared to blink. "Dee-ya-get?" He sounded the phrase out. Mairead laughed. "_Dia duit_! It means hello!"

Hot Shot accessed the organic world's data collection-something called an Internet-and looked up the language that corresponded to his coordinates. "Where _am_ I?" he asked the tiny native being. She laughed again. "You're in the back garden of the Abbey of Kells! You made a big mess, you know." An Abbey? The Autobot youngling winced. Hopefully he hadn't damaged anything important. Suddenly it occurred to him that the human had seen him.

So much for keeping a low profile. "What's your name?" the little girl asked. "Hot Shot," he replied. The child squinched up her nose. "That's a weird name." The young warrior pushed back his visor. "Well, what's_ your_ name?" She dropped a playful curtsy. "Mairead McKenna." Hot Shot was about to ask her where "Kells" was when several bright beams of light hit his optics. "Mairead!" a male voice shouted, "Get back!"

"It's alright, Daddy!" the eight year old waved cheerfully up at the balding man. "He's friendly!" Hot Shot waved, embarrassed. "Dia duit," he mumbled. The collected adults raised their eyebrows and looked askance at each other. "Ah...hello, young...man," the vicar scratched his head. "How did you come to be in that hole?" Hot Shot hung his helm. "I didn't _mean_ to damage your holy place," he apologized, "I lost control of my craft, y'see."

Mr. McKenna crouched at the edge of the crater. "You came from outer space?" The Autobot nodded. "Yes sir, I was on the run from some enemies and I got a little too close to the atmosphere." He looked around. "I'm...stuck." Pleading blue optics were turned up to the small mob of humans. "Would you help me?" Peter McKenna scratched his chin. "Wait here a tad."

The adults held a hastily whispered conference while Mairead slipped down the incline to sit on Hot Shot's head. "Do you think he's dangerous?" Margaret Whelan, the grocer's wife smoothed her hair nervously. Vicar Allen looked over at the robot giggling with the McKenna child over a highly indignant cat and a smile creased his old face. "Does he _look_ dangerous to you, Mrs. Whelan?"

Reluctantly, it was agreed that the UFO didn't seem to pose much of a threat. "What if the government comes looking for the spaceman?" asked

William Butler, with a hound on a leash. Abigail McNally, a kindhearted old woman frowned. "D'ye think they'd hurt the poor creature? He must be an awfully long way from home!" At last, a consensus was reached by the people of the neighborhood. So long as no bigger aliens came looking for "their" spaceman, he would hide in someone's shed or garage.

"Hold on, down there," Mr. Whelan called to Hot Shot, "Just let us get some ropes and you'll be out before sunrise!" Hot Shot frowned. "Are they going to be able to pull me out?" he asked Mairead, "You humans aren't very big, you know." The little girl shrugged carelessly. "Tré Neart le Chéile." She smiled at get new friend's confused look. "It's the motto of County Meath: "Together Strong"."

"Together Strong," the alien repeated. He smiled. "I like it!" Mairead slipped down from his helm and perched on his shoulder. "I hope you come live with us!" she declared. "Then we can watch cartoons in the morning, and I'll show you how to play football, and pirates, and we can read fairy tales..." On and on the excited child prattled, and Hot Shot watched in amusement. "You're a strange creature, Mairead." The girl tossed her brown curls haughtily as she answered, "Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile!" Bewildered, the youngling looked up the phrase. "One beetle recognizes another?"

"It means 'it takes one to know one', young fellow," the cheery voice of Vicar Allen heralded the return of the neighborhood men and women with ropes and pulleys. It took an hour and a half, but eventually the Cybertronian was hauled from the crater and hosed off by a well-meaning gardner. "Alright," the vicar turned to the crowd. "Let's get this mess cleaned up before the police arrive. Peter, why don't you take our young friend home?" The humans all reacted with humorous surprise when the Autobot scanned a car on the street and transformed.

"_Well_!" They exclaimed, "Ní mar a shíltear a bhítear!" This time, Hot Shot didn't need a translation as Peter and his daughter climbed into his interior. "Where I come from," he remarked, "we say _More than Meets the Eye_." Mairead danced in her seat. "Daddy, can Hot Shot live with us?" Peter smiled benignly. "We'll see, love. I think Ms. McNally might want him too." Mairead pouted. "But she's already got two dogs and three great nephews who plague the street and I've _only_ got a baby brother!"

Hot Shot was a little confused, but he didn't mind. These humans weren't at all like some of the reports from Earth warned! He supposed Decepticons were just as likely to come to Ireland as anywhere else. So long as no one called for him, he intended to stay in County Meath.


	16. Chapter 16

**Continuation of "Olympus" from chapter 2...Megatron is scary.**

Crucible

Knock Out had already begun several successful preliminary tests when word came that the Autobots' human pets were in custody. "Let's go, Orion!" the medic exclaimed, dashing from the med bay, "We've got three new rescues!" Pax sighed and put down the beaker. The old human in the containment field chuckled. "No rest for the wicked, huh?" He was elderly, by the standards of the short-lived organics, and very ill. Still, Knock Out had made it a side project to cure the man known as Mr. Fairnight, as the genial fellow had endeared himself to all who met him. "I'll be back, Fairnight," Orion promised, "Just as soon as we get the new arrivals settled in."

Horace Fairnight gazed pityingly at the giant robot. These aliens truly seemed to think they were doing the right thing-and he wouldn't deny that many of the humans they had brought to the ship were from parts of the world where their life expectancy was very short. Horace grimaced at a twinge of pain in his chest. He wasn't much longer for the world, he knew, but he was stubbornly clinging to life for as long as possible-if for no other reason than to teach these big-hearted bigfoots how to interact with humans. At least he knew he would be missed when he died.

Orion and Knock Out approached the bridge with slight apprehension. The last six arrivals had been tiny, terrified children that had needed excessive calming. Four had been removed from extraordinarily dangerous situations to begin with, and had to get over their initial trauma before the doctor could begin treatment. These three newest didn't look frightened: they looked angry. The Decepticon CMO stepped back. "You're better with sparklings than me, Pax. Why don't you explain things to them." The red and blue archivist crouched slightly to look into the containers Soundwave held.

"Hello there!" Orion smiled at the two tiny mechs and the little femme. "I know, you're confused and a little angry, but I promise that everything is going to be alright." The little female one slammed her fist into the glass. "Why did you leave us?" she yelled. Orion blinked. All three children looked betrayed and hurt. Knock Out bustled forward and took the smallest one from the spy. "Now now," he soothed brusquely, "I know, you were all with the Autobots together. A little solidarity goes a long way, doesn't it? Well if we'd known about you when Lord Megatron first rescued Orion, we would never have left you with those terrorists!" The tiniest human stared at him in disbelief. "Guys," he gulped, "I think he means it!"

One of Orion's two Vehicon escorts, Crossways, leaned forward to look at the older male. "Hey there, little guy!" he said in a friendly voice, "Whatcha got there?" Something around the human child's neck was glowing faintly. Knock Out peered into the container, then stumbled back, still holding the youngest human. "By the Allspark!" he cried, "Has Lord Megatron seen this?" The girl held by Orion looked panicked. "Jack! Hide it!" she cried. The boy tried to cover the light, but it had drawn the attention of the other Decepticons.

Soundwave glared silently into the jar and very nearly dropped it when he recognized the Key to Vector Sigma. He glanced up. Orion Pax was busy calming the girl; he did not seem to notice the missing piece of the Matrix of Leadership. The spy sent a coded message to Megatron regarding this unusual new development, and it wasn't long before the imposing warrior swept into the room. "Excellent work, Soundwave!" he boomed. He cast his red optics over the three humans who had suddenly fallen silent. "Orion, you may have difficulties with these three. They've been held for about a year by Autobots-they've learned to distrust Cybertronians."

The warlord motioned them away, but as Soundwave passed carrying his prisoner, the Decepticon leader stopped him. "No. Give him to me." Knock Out's helm snapped up and his optics filled with concern. Megatron raised a hand placatingly. "Be assured that I shall bring the boy to the crèche soon. For now, however, he and I have _much_ to discuss." Megatron turned his back on the bridge, carrying a nervous Jack Darby with him. The boy clutched the Key, but not even its comforting warmth could dispel his growing dread.

The container was placed on a level surface, then tilted back so that its occupant found himself staring up into Megatron's fearsome red optics. "What do you want, Megatron?" Jack snapped. At first, the colossus did not answer. He read through Soundwave's report with interest, then turned to glare down at his captive. "So, Optimus Prime has chosen a successor. How fortunate that he did so before rejoining our ranks, else the title of Prime might have been forever lost to us!" He lifted the jar to peer in at the human.

"What are you talking about?!" Jack demanded, "What successor?!" Megatron scowled. "Mind your tone, sparkling. I will_ not_ be spoken to in such a manner, do you understand me?" The young human trembled and shrank back against the glass. "Look, if you're going to kill me, just get it over with." He glowered defiantly. Megatron's smile would have frightened a shark. "_Kill_ you? No, I'm not going to kill you!" Jacky's blood ran cold as the smile turned into something fiercer. "That Key is bound to your life signature now. It can't be taken from you, even in death. You are worth more to us alive, boy."

The ex-gladiator straightened and paced the room. "We can use this to our advantage. You will, of course, undergo cybernetic recalibration with the other members of the crèche." Megatron brought the container close and Jack shied away from his cruel visage. "What...what's cybernetic recalibration?" he asked warily. Megatron seemed lost in thought. "Yes," he murmured, "And the Key will remain bonded to you as you grow." A fiendish light rose in his optics, as he contemplated the future. "What better way to crush the spirits of the Autobots? Their beloved _leader_ follows me as my brother, his _successor_ will stand at my side as the future leader of the Decepticons!"

Bits and pieces were beginning to make sense to the boy and he recoiled in horror. "Decepticons?!" Megatron laughed, but as harsh as the sound was, it was strangely without malice. "Yes. A Prime who was raised loyal to the cause of the Decepticons would be quite an asset, would he not?" He tilted his helm contemplatively. "You will have a new name, naturally. I'm sure you realize that "Jack" is not a fitting name for a Prime, or the heir of Kaon." Jack shut his eyes and curled tightly into himself. "You're insane!"

Abruptly, the jar was opened and Jack was shaken out into the warlord's talons. "Excilion." Jack wasn't sure what the mad tyrant meant, and remained huddled with his arms over his head. "_Excilion_! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Cautiously, Jack opened one eye, trying to determine whether Megatron was talking to him. He was. "_Thank_ you," the Decepticon sneered, and the boy felt a shudder of revulsion. "Whether or not you retain your human memories will decide whether or not you undergo reconditioning," he growled, "But we _will_ be seeing more of each other either way. You can choose to accept your station, or you can choose to make life _very difficult_ for yourself."

The sharp servos tilted upward, trapping Jack in a living cage. "Have I made myself clear, Excilion?" Jack forced himself to meet the tyrant's gaze and stood. "You have not." His fist tightened around the piece of the Matrix he carried and he felt its worried hum. Something akin to approval flickered through the crimson optics at his boldness. "Then let me explain it in a manner you may more _easily_ understand." The "cage" fell away, and there was no barrier separating the human from the Decepticon. "You will enter the crèche, and the recalibration will upgrade your weak organic mesh into the first stage of sparklinghood. The Autobots have _abandoned_ you, boy. As of now, you are a ward of the Decepticons, to be raised to maturity _as_ a Decepticon."

He shot a warning look at the boy. "And do not think of trying to remind Orion of events he has no memory of. You have proven thus far to be an intelligent young warrior, and your disobedience would be very..._disappointing_...to me." Jack did not back down. "You are not my father," he hissed. The warlord threw back his helm and laughed. "We shall see, young Prime. We shall see."

He carried his prisoner back to the med bay and deposited him into Orion's hands with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Take care of Excilion, my friend," he directed cheerfully, "Let me know if he causes any_...problems_." The boy huddled stoically in the giant hand and refused to look at either mech. "He was kept by the Autobot leader," Megatron whispered, "Excilion may require counseling." More for Orion's benefit than anyone else, Megatron nudged the little human in what appeared to be an affectionate gesture.

"You think me cruel, sparkling, do not deny it. Perhaps I seem so to one too young to know what is best for himself. In time, you'll see that it is better this way." The tip of this servo brought the boy's chin up so that their eyes met. "I expect you to behave in a manner befitting your _rank_, Excilion. You are a representative of the House of Kaon now. You would do well to remember that." With that, he left and not even the familiar servos of Optimus Prime comforted Jack, not with the future Megatron had chosen for him.

In Orion's other hand, he held the little femme who'd been brought in with this "Excilion". She was curled up close to his spark, trying to pretend that it was all a bad dream. "Jack?" she croaked, "Remember all the times I said I wanted to be a Cybertronian?" The boy looked up and the anger in his eyes melted away. "I didn't have _this_ in mind." Jack leaned over towards the girl. "We'll be okay, Miko," he said without confidence. Orion smiled at the solemn pair.

"So your name is Miko!" He smoothed her hair with the tip of his thumb affectionately. "I was beginning to worry that you didn't have a designation at all!" It was fairly obvious that he was just trying to make them smile. Miko snorted. "Ratch was right, Jack. He really _is_ a lot like you." Jack looked around with steely determination. "Where's Raf?" he asked. Miko frowned and shifted closer to Orion's spark for comfort. "Remember his Dark Energon poisoning?" she whispered.

Jack's fists clenched. One more reason not to play along with Megatron's mad schemes. "I remember." Miko pulled her knees close to her chest. "The doc said he still had some in his system. _Totally_ flipped out, carted Raf straight into the back room for..." her voice dropped, "...surgery." Pax noted the horror in their eyes and wondered what they had experienced at the servos of the Autobots. "Oh no, it's alright, little ones!" he said gently, "Don't be frightened! Knock Out is a very capable doctor, and very good with humans. Why, two cycles past we had a rescue from Darfur with serious injuries. The CMO put her in surgery and she came out without a mark on her." He motioned to a compartment in the wall.

"I'd let you speak to her, but it's her sleep cycle right now. You'll meet your crèche mates soon enough." He stood and settled them both in one hand. "Right, well I suppose I should find berths for you two." His Vehicon companions opened a few wall compartments. "What do you think, Orion?" asked one, "Pink for the mouthy tot?" Orion held Miko up so she could see the soft interior. It honestly looked like a Cybertronian had been playing doll house, with its plush carpet and bean bags and tiny poster bed.

"Not pink!" Crossways complained, "She's too tough for pink!" He pointed to a purple and black drawer, similarly decorated. "You want the one_ I_ designed, right Miko? It's _way_ cooler than my brother's!" The girl couldn't help but smile a little. For faceless drones, they certainly reminded her of Bulkhead and Wheeljack. "Can I have pink _and_ purple?" she asked shyly. "Anything you want!" Orion declared adoringly. Primus, he loved taking care of the sparklings.

The two foot soldiers hastily combined pieces from their two compartments to make a room for Miko. "There we are!" Crossways trumpeted proudly, "Fit for a princess!" Orion slid the girl down onto the bean bag. "Now, I'm going to find somewhere to put Excilion-" "It's _Jack_!" the boy ground out. "Jaxilion." Orion humorously compromised, "Then I'll be right back." He looked around. The project was still in its early stages, so the crèche was limited to about thirty berths, eighteen of which had occupants.

"Lord Megatron took a shine to the little guy, huh?" Crossways glanced over Orion's shoulder. "I can't figure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, he's pretty strict sometimes." Orion opened a compartment and held Jack up to look at it. "Well, he hasn't had the easiest life, my friend. Imagine growing up a slave and winning your freedom in the gladiatorial arena: you think that'll make you a soft-spoken individual?" He then asked Jack if he had any preference of compartments. "Put me near Raf and Miko, that's all I ask," he sighed.

Orion opened a drawer and sent the human a sympathetic look. "I know Megatron can be a little..._overbearing_...at times," he said in a conciliatory manner, "He takes a little getting used to, that's all. If he starts yelling or threatening, watch to see if his left optic twitches. If not, he isn't _really_ angry. That's just how he expresses concern." Jack wasn't sure he had the heart to correct the archivist.

Abruptly, Knock Out bustled into the room, cradling Rafael in his servos. "Success! Our little friend is Dark Energon-free, and as a bonus, no longer requires corrective lenses!" Orion Pax warmly congratulated the doctor, who handed the boy to one of the Vehicon brothers. "Here, why don't you find a nice little room for the poor kid, Crossways?" The drone huffed indignantly. "I'm_ Sideways_!" he snapped. "_I'm_ Crossways!" the other clarified.

"Er...of course you are, um, Sideways!"

"_Cross_ways!"

"Whatever."

Orion smirked. At least the two weren't switching designations today. They really were nuisances, those Vehicon twins. He halfway suspected that Megatron had assigned them to him in hopes that he would be a calming influence. Or it might've been payback for the incident in Maccadam's with the PA system and the Insecticon from before the War. That was not out of the range of possibility. He shook his helm and turned back to his young charges. "I'm afraid you'll be seeing more of those two malfunctions," he said in mock apology, "They like to sneak into the crèche when I'm not looking to read bizarre stories to the sparklings."

"You're both horrible examples!" Orion called over his shoulder. Jack sat on the small blue bed and crossed his arms. "You're being really nice about this," he remarked, "but... my friends and I just want to go home!" Knock Out looked surprised. "Why, you _are_ home, little fellow!" Jack and Miko and Rafael curled up in the tiny apartments and prayed that their guardians would find them soon.

**Megatron is terrible at parenting. He only knows how to be the bad cop. Miko, on the other hand, is probably going to be spoiled rotten.**


	17. Chapter 17

Remembrance

_For my Grandfather, my Great Uncle, and my many cousins who have served and are serving in the military. I love you._

An old man stood in front of a long black wall, shriveled fingers tracing the names in the stone. He did not cry, but his pale blue eyes shone as he walked along the memorial. Beside him, his youngest son stood in respectful silence, contemplating. At his other side was his eldest grandson, and his eyes were hard and angry. "They don't _get_ it," the young soldier growled, "_None_ of 'em. And the White House isn't helping things." His grandfather turned to him with a sad smile. "Well, it was like that when I was at war, too."

The middle aged man placed a comforting hand on his father's arm. For one whose name meant "war", you could find no gentler soul. The younger scoffed with an old bitterness. "They'll wait for Memorial Day, or some other crisis, but today it's life as usual. They're selfi-" His uncle cut him off with a pointed look towards the small figure standing at their feet. The toddler stared up at the three men adoringly, drinking in every word spoken. The eldest smiled gently. "They're our people." was all he said. His grandson nodded, abashed. "I know, Pop. I know. I just wish they'd show you a little more respect."

The old man's creased face developed several more wrinkles as he raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm alright." the quavery voice said. The other two men smiled, knowing exactly what the old soldier meant. He'd hadn't gone to war to be shown respect, he'd merely done whatever he could to protect his home and family. The child standing with them tugged his pant leg. "Pop-pop, yook! A twuck!"

Confused, the three men looked around until they saw what the boy was pointing to. Parked a short distance away was a large red semi truck with blue flames painted on the door. All four generations of the American family looked impressed. Leaning against the grill was a mustachioed man in red flannel with a cowboy hat pulled low over square glasses. The child's father could not help gloomily comparing the moment to his generation as his son wandered away from the wall of names, oblivious to its significance. Conversely, his uncle and grandfather smiled, thinking to themselves, "_There. That's why we fight. So this little boy can go look at a truck and not be afraid of his home being attacked_."

"Come on, Pop-pop! Go see twuck!" the toddler demanded, pulling the old gentleman by the hand. When they got closer to the man at the semi, he squinted. "...Larry?" he asked. The man smiled wistfully. "No, I'm his brother." The lines on his face and the rise and fall of his voice marked him as a kindred spirit from a similar generation. The two shook hands firmly and reminisced about their common acquaintance as if they'd known each other personally. Seeing his great grandfather so cheerfully greeting the truck driver, the little boy decided that he must not be a stranger and beamed up at him. "I yike you twuck!" he shouted.

The other man chuckled and pushed back his cowboy hat. "Well thank you, son! I like my truck too!" He shook hands with the middle aged man and the young soldier as they approached. "I want to thank you for your service, sir," the trucker said humbly, first to the eldest man, then the youngest. They stood together in the parking lot for several minutes, talking like old friends. Finally, the old soldier's son glanced at his watch and remarked, "Well, we have to head out. We're meeting up with the rest of the family for lunch. Why don't you join us?"

The mustached man's eyes wrinkled at the corners as he politely declined and said he hoped to meet them all again someday. He shook hands once more with the men, and waved to the child, then climbed into the cab of the red Peterbilt. As it pulled out onto the road, a deep voice spoke from the radio. "A day to commemorate veterans. I believe the Autobots could benefit from observing this holiday." The driver nodded and leaned back against the seat, taking his hands off the wheel. "Well," he said with the smallest of smirks, "It's nice to know we're teaching you _some_ valuable things!"

The radio voice sounded mildly offended. "If you happen to be referring to that unfortunate event with Bumblebee and the Hollywood director, I assure you, I had nothing to do with it!" The human shook his head. "Sure you didn't, Prime. Sure you didn't." They lapsed into a companionable silence as they settled into the traffic pattern. After a while, Optimus asked, "Who were the men you were speaking to?" His friend smiled lightly. "Oh, an acquaintance of my brother's. They were over in 'Nam together, as it turns out, along with that fella's brother-in-law." He chuckled. "They only came over to talk because the little guy liked your paint job." Hydraulics hissed as the cab seemed to shift slightly. "That...seems to be happening more often lately," Optimus remarked. He sounded as if he wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. "Do you think you'll meet them again?" he referred to the trucker's farewell to the men. "Oh, I imagine I may see them up here around Memorial Day," the man responded. Then he turned his face to the window, lost in thoughts of the past.

**Happy Veterans Day for those of you in America, and Happy Armistice Day everywhere else. 95 years ago today, World War I ended.**


	18. Chapter 18

**So, this was suggested by Foxbear. She actually wrote one similar (and in the greatest of likelihoods, **_**far**_** better), but I'm attempting to put a little bit of a twist on a classic tale.**

**Also, in response to neon's comment on the Veteran's Day one-shot: I don't know if I could ever write something like that, because it would mean that I'd have to admit that Lennox is going to get old and die. He's kind of my favorite human from the live-action series, so that would be kinda hard for me. :( (**_**other reason I didn't write it that way is because the humans in the last chapter are all living, breathing, people that I know in real life. Knowing what they go through, and what they have gone through, I felt that it was an appropriate way to honor them**_**)**

Androcles

Barricade was tired of running. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he was fairly certain that in the end it would turn out to be Megatron's fault. What a sad statement it was to say that the Decepticons had a better chance under Starscream's command! The police car swerved off the highway, desperate for a hiding place. The Autobots and their feral little allies, '_Yumans_ or whatever they were called, had taken out his entire team faster than he'd thought possible, and those that hadn't been slaughtered on sight had been dragged back to some dark hole in the mountains for questioning and "prison sentences". They were aware that Decepticons didn't fall under the jurisdiction of Earth laws, weren't they? Barricade had endured two weeks of confinement and hard labor before escaping. He hadn't killed anyone—more because that would heighten the grudge against him than out of conscience.

The Decepticon transformed and slipped into the forest, deftly weaving in and out of trees. It was only a mater of time before they found him, he knew, but his best bet was to put some distance between himself and the Autobot base. He winced as a half-fallen trunk brushed against his dislocated shoulder joint, but doggedly he continued, deeper into the woods until his processor could not connect to any Earth satellite. He crouched, trembling, in a depression covered in autumn leaves. A tiny creek gurgled around his pedes, and he backed away in disgust, hoping to avoid rust. Miserably, the once-proud soldier rested his back against a low outcropping of boulders and wrapped his long arms around his knees. The sun had risen and set four times before he had any contact with sentient beings. As Barricade sat motionless in his pitiable stupor, he heard the sound of branches snapping and a high-pitched cry of pain and distress. Sternly, Barricade told himself not to get up, not to give in to the urge to look. It was probably a trap anyway.

When the sounds of agony did not fade away, his curiosity overtook his caution, and he crept from his spot towards the noise. It was one of the savage little creatures that the Autobots kept around to torment the Decepticons with their nasty, burning, sabot rounds. Somehow or other, it had fallen into the gorge and had a long, thin spar of wood sticking into its shoulder. _Serves it right, the little brute_, Barricade thought at first. He prepared to slip back into his hiding place, but the when the human attempted to move and cried out, he stopped. Uncomfortably, he began to feel that he ought to help the creature. _Why should I?_ His processor argued, _It would just turn on me the moment it was healed! _Yet, his spark argued, _Look at it. It's in pain! What if that were you, trapped with a spear through your shoulder?_ Barricade absently touched his own dislocated shoulder joint and made his decision. The black and white mech lumbered down into the gorge and loomed over the human. It froze, and its already-sickly pallor lightened a few shades.

Barricade tipped his helm to the side in consideration for a moment before reaching down and pinching the piece of wood until it shattered, rendering the human mobile. "You're leaking out," he said gruffly, and scooped the organic into one hand. He had the vague notion of taking it back to his stream to wash off its energon. But not because he cared. That couldn't have been it. Gingerly, the Decepticon set the human down by the water and eased himself back into his sitting position. The man struggled into a kneeling position and began to splash water onto his shoulder with his uninjured hand. He hissed through clenched teeth as he attempted to remove some of the splinters from his fragile flesh. Barricade stared in disbelief. Up until now, the humans had seemed so angry and capable and overwhelming, like a horde of Scraplets out for energon. Now, however, all he could see was how _helpless_ they were. Once more, he found his processor at war with his spark, and once more his spark won out.

"C'mere." The human didn't seem to understand, but then again, it had been so long since he had spoken to anyone that Barricade wasn't even sure what language he was using. He opted to merely grab the human again, wincing as his shoulder guard cut into the sensitive wires beneath. The Cybertronian extended two thin probes from his servo-tips and began to extract the bits of debris from the wound. Several times, the little creature yelped and uttered a long string of chirping gibberish thatarricadewn suspected would have been swear words if they had been properly articulated. Still, it could hardly be helped—not when the spar of wood had gone straigh_t throu_gh the shoulder. When the last of the splinters lay in a bloody heap on the ground,Barricade gently set his patient back down and leaned back against the rock, waiting for it to run back into the wild where it must have come from. Instead, it stayed where he had placed it, staring inquisitively up at him. Then, it did something that Barricade had never seen a human do before: it smiled at him. His spark definitely did not pulse warmly at the sight. And he _certainly_ didn't smile back! He was a _Decepticon_ for the Allspark's sake! He didn't _have_ friends, only victims!

As night began to fall, it became clear that the human had no plans to rejoin its pack, wherever they were. It drew its now-tattered coat closer around it and settled itself in the leaves between Barricade's pedes. "You are one crazy little '_Yuman_," the Decepticon grumbled. It recognized the word _y'uman_ and nodded several times, smiling thinly. As the last of the light disappeared, Barricade heard the nocturnal things begin to make their rounds. If the hunting creatures found his '_yuman_, they would probably make a mess, and all that work removing the thorns would go to waste. Grumbling goodnaturedly about the upkeep of pets, Barricade lifted the organic being and held him to his spark. He didn't realize it, but that was likely the only reason the human lived through the night. The heat from the Decepticon's spark kept the young soldier from going into shock. It was another full day before the human spoke. Barricade had fallen back into staring listlessly at nothing in particular when a tiny voice said, "Thanks." The Cybertronian shuttered his optics several times before it dawned on him that the little creature was speaking to him. "F'r what?" he slurred, low on energy.

The human motioned to his injured shoulder. "For helping me. You didn't have to." Barricade shrugged emotionlessly and set the man down on a boulder. "You _'yumans_ eat other carbon-based life-forms, don't you?" he muttered, before shuffling off into the forest. He wandered slowly around the trees for a few hours, trying to find something the '_yuman_ could ingest. He managed to catch an unlucky doe, but once he had it in his giant servos, he realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. He supposed he might as well take it back to Spike—for so he had taken to calling the human in his processor. When he reached his hiding place, he looked about in dismay. There was no sign of Spike, but there was a conspicuous rust-colored stain on the leaves. "Spike?" he called in a low, cautious voice. "Where are you, '_yuman_?"

He grunted in pain as suddenly a laser bolt thudded into his shoulder. Barricade fell heavily to his knees as the shots continued. The Autobot Mirage shimmered into view beside him as he attempted to raise his helm. "Unit 1," the stealthy mech said coldly, "I found the fugitive." Several more Autobots appeared, along with the fearsome '_yumans_ that Barricade was more accustomed to. Exhausted and concerned, he did not resist as they forced him into vehicle mode and towed him back to the base in the mountains. The humans were angry, as predicted, and some of them whispered among themselves of executing the well-known Decepticon, citing the Battle of Mission City for his crimes. In the end, after months of deliberation, the human government liason informed the soldiers that Barricade would face a sabot firing squad—something the Autobots were clearly _very _uncomfortable with. When the day arrived, the barely functioning Decepticon was pushed out into the prison yard and chained down.

Overhead somewhere, he could hear the Autobots protesting his treatment, asking whether one of them would be next. The firing squad marched out, some seeming less reluctant than others. Barricade shut his optics and waited for the fiery shots to sever a main energon line. Instead, he heard a wild cry from a familiar voice. One of the soldiers dropped his gun and ran to stand guard in front of the mech's helm. "Don't shoot!" he shouted, "Don't hurt him!" His comrades stared at him. "Baby Face, are you out of your mind?!" one called, "That's a _Decepticon_! Same one that messed up your shoulder!" Above the arena, Optimus Prime—who had just arrived from Diego Garcia in hopes of putting a stop to the barbaric affair—watched with interest as "Baby Face" Zimmerman, one of the very youngest soldiers of N.E.S.T., defended the fallen Decepticon. "He didn't mess up my shoulder! I did that by my stupid self!"

Painfully, Barricade raised his helm. His vents hitched when he realized that it was the same _'yuman _he had aided in the woods_._ "Get out of here, Spike," he rasped, "They're about to shoot." Zimmerman set his jaw and spread his arms to either side. "You can't shoot him unless you're gonna shoot me too!" he declared mutinously. Higher-ranked officers tried to order him to move, his friends tried to persuade him to move, but the boy stood his ground. The Prime had seen enough. He strode out onto the field and the soldiers instantly saluted. "Why was I not informed until twenty minutes ago that your government intended to execute a prisoner without informing us, as per our treaty?" he asked the commanding officer in a gentle tone of rebuke, "I wasn't aware that capital punishment was one of our options." He turned to look at Barricade, who had worked a hand out of the chains while the guards were distracted.

The Decepticon glared tiredly up at Optimus as Zimmerman moved to intercept the larger mech. "Please don't let them kill Barricade," the young soldier begged, "I owe him my life!" Barricade swept the human up in his one free hand and held him close to his armor. "Shut _up_ Spike!" he hissed, "You want to get in even _more_ trouble?" The human who stood on Optimus's shoulder raised an eyebrow and leaned over to whisper something into the Autobot's audial reciever. The titan nodded. "You are right, Colonel, there does appear to have been a drastic change in behavior." Lt. Colonel Lennox crossed his arms. Ironhide would probably have pounded him for advocating any kind of mercy for this "Decepticon Punk", but Ironhide was—thankfully—back at home watching Annabelle today. William suppressed a shudder at the sight of the helpless Cybertronian. It looked for all the world like bear baiting, and he knew in his heart that if the humans got away with this, there wasn't that much keeping it from being one of the Autobots chained to the stake next.

"You know they cannot simply release you," Optimus remarked thoughtfully. He spent a moment relaying glyph messages to and from Diego Garcia and his human contacts there before a decision was reached. "The Decepticon known as Barricade has had his sentence changed by your government," he announced loudly. "He is to be remanded to the island of Diego Garcia, in permanent exile." Will worked up an intimidating scowl. "That goes for the kid, too." The Prime glanced curiously at his human companion at this statement, but did not contradict him. Relieved, Mirage entered the arena to help them haul Barricade to his pedes. The Decepticon still had a possessive grip on Zimmerman and glared suspiciously at the Autobots right up until they led him onto the massive cargo plane. He was still a prisoner, but at least he didn't have half a dozen guns pointed at him now. Barricade was unaware of the stares he attracted as he huddled in the corner of the cell and gently poked at his '_yuman_ rescuer. "Spike," he growled, "You're either really brave, or _really _stupid. I haven't decided which yet."

Zimmerman grinned unapologetically. "Me either. I guess I figured I owed you something, Big Guy." The black-and-white Vehicon grumbled irritably and shifted in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable. "Well it wouldn't have been very grateful of you to go and get yourself killed after I spent a whole day pulling a tree out of your squishy little shoulder, now would it?" Red optics narrowed in concern. "Did it heal?" Baby Face shrugged with one shoulder. "It closed up fine, no infection," he muttered, "But the doc says I might not ever get full range of motion back." Barricade winced. "You can't replace it?" This time the human snorted. "Humans don't work that way, 'Cade." Barricade vented in annoyance. "What is this, "Cade"?" Baby Face half-heartedly swiped at the arm of the being holding him. "What, you can give me a new nickname and I can't do the same?" The Decepticon scowled at him, but magnanimously decided that Spike was allowed to call him 'Cade. It was, he supposed, the least he could do for a friend.

**In case you're wondering, "Baby Face Zimmerman" is the soldier in Dark of the Moon who first volunteers when Lennox is looking for a team to go into Chicago.**


	19. Chapter 19

**I am revisiting the Victorian one-shots, "A Place to Sit and Ponder" and "Scion" today. Also, this is a pairing I don't usually ship, so it's something new for me. But then, part of the reason I write these "what-if's" is so that I can expand my horizons...so without further ado, let's roll out.**

Ceileann searc ainimh's locht.

A quandry had arisen in the Bull's Horn Band. The young runaway, Hua Mo Li, had attached herself very obstinately to one Mr. O'Garvie, and she appeared to have no notion of conventional propriety. She would very often come out to the stables unchaperoned and perch on the stall doors like a cat, asking to join in the occasional card game like she was one of the lads. Wheels and his cousin Hagen Shackleton didn't seem to mind, but then, they were of a rough sort. Brogan, on the other hand, was beginning to feel that something would have to be said, and soon. Why, only two days prior, he'd been sent out to market to spy out Kaon activity by Doctor Rach and she's come walking along for all the world as if they were courting! It wasn't the disapproving stares that worried the Irishman, he was plenty used to those already. It was more that he feared for Mo Li's reputation. Being the daughter of opium traders made things difficult enough for her, but her outrageous behavior was probably going to make things worse.

Brogan sighed and leaned against the stable wall miserably. Any other day, a conundrum like the would have seen him straight to the study of Lord Prime, asking for advice. But Lord Prime was away on business with young Master Darby somewhere, and it would hardly have been proper for him to ask Miss d'Iacon for direction. His only other option was to go to Doctor Rach—not a thought he relished. "What are you making, Brogan?" the sweet voice startled him rather badly. Mo Li giggled as he bent to retrieve his knife and mumbled excuses, shoving the carving back into his vest. "Miss Hua!" he exclaimed, embarrassed, "Yer not supposed ta be out here wittowt a chaperone!" The girl pouted prettily. "Why do you always call me "Miss Hua?" she asked. "You ought to call me Mo Li. It sounds like Mollie! That is a good Irish name, is it not?" O'Garvie cleared his throat awkwardly. "It ain't _proper_, see?" he attempted. Mo Li sighed and folded herself down onto a bale of hay. "Proper. I have had enough of _proper_ with my _parents. _I have no wish to go back to that life!"

Desperately, Brogan tried to think of a way to get her out of the stable before someone came along and asked why she had no chaperone. "Awful close to noon, ain't it?" he asked, changing the subject, "Do us a favor, lass, and ask the good nurse when she needed me ta get tha' turkey at the butcher's?" The young woman rolled her eyes expressively, not fooled for a moment, but she smirked and stood. "What is it you say sometimes?_Mór has a maid and yet Mór has to beg_. That is the expression, yes?" Anything to keep up appearances. The phrase was correct, but Brogan couldn't think for the life of him where Miss Hua had learned it. She sniffed in feigned indignation and swished out of the stables. O'Garvie's relief did not last long. Raucous chuckles alerted him to the presence of two young boys in the rafters above him. He scowled. "Raph, Hagen, is that yerselves?" The two children nimbly scampered down the ladder and grinned mischievously up at the large man.

"Are ye going to ask Mo Li to marry ye then, Brogan?" Raphael asked innocently. He dodged the ostler's halfhearted cuff and pulled a face at him. "How long were ye brats up there?" Brogan demanded, arms akimbo. Hagen swiped his nose on his grubby sleeve and snickered. "Long enow' ta see ya carvin' the madder an' eyebright flow'rs!" O'Garvie's cheeks burned. He waved his arms roughly at the boys, shooing them away. "Gerrout witcha, ye nuisances! Ain't ye got chores ta do?" Laughing, the children ducked under his grip and darted out the door, loudly humming Lohengrin's bridal march. On their way out, they nearly ran slap into Lord Prime, leading the dappled grey mares that had been hitched to his carriage. "Sorry, sir!" they shouted together, not even stopping to greet him as they dashed across the courtyard gleefully. Optimus raised an eyebrow at Brogan. "Dare I ask?" he said simply.

The ostler hung his head and took the horses from his employer. "Ah, they were teasin' about Miss Hua, little brats that they are." The older man nodded understandingly. "I see. Am I to understand then that you _are_ courting her?" O'Garvie groaned and slapped a palm to his sweaty forehead. "Ah not you too, sir! Does everyone think I'm courtin' the lass?" Lord Prime crossed his arms behind his back and frowned at the younger man. "You've certainly given indications. You address each other familiarly in public, and walk together unchaperoned. I must ask, why have you allowed this to continue if you had no intention of proposing to the young lady?" The stern look in the nobleman's eyes unnerved Brogan, and he hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. "It ain't that I don't like her, sir. She's miles above any lass I ever met! It's just that I'm too _old_ for her, ain't I?" Optimus raised both eyebrows and there was a smile in his voice. "Why, Brogan! You speak as though twelve years' difference made you older than her grandfather!"

He sobered. "I advise you to consider, Mr. O'Garvie: if you were to go about now, saying that there was nothing between the pair of you, what do you think that would do to Miss Hua's reputation?" Brogan groaned again and shoved his large hands into his jacket pockets. "Well I've fair walked into this one, didn't I?" Lord Prime nodded slightly. "I'm afraid you have, Mr. O'Garvie. Perhaps you were not considering marriage at this stage of your life, but I fear that Miss Hua does not see things this way. You have a responsibility, Brogan." He clapped the ostler on the shoulder and turned to leave the stables. At the door, he turned and fixed his mild gaze on the nervous stable hand. "If it is any comfort, my friend," Optimus said calmly, "I believe that you and Miss Hua make a very good match." Well now Brogan _really _couldn't protest! Lord Prime ducked out of the stables to rejoin Jack in the courtyard, leaving Brogan O'Garvie alone with his thoughts.

With the blush still very much across his face, he took the wildflowers he'd been carving from his pocket once more and stared very hard at them. It occurred to him that if he hollowed the middle part out and put in some hinges, he could probably fit a Claddagh ring in it. Oh saints help him, he was actually considering it! The rough young man glanced out the doorway to where Mo Li had come out into the courtyard with Miss d'Iacon to greet Lord Prime and Jack. A faint smile traced his lips. Ah, there were worse things in life than getting married, he supposed. Although, he did wonder whether perhaps Mo Li ought to have Doctor Rach examine her eyes.

**Good gravy you guys. I posted three chapters in one day! (unless you count now as tomorrow) I shouldn't do that again, I have obligations to fulfill in the real world, sadly (?)**

**I may have to take a brief hiatus for the sake of my schedule :{**


	20. Chapter 20

**I'm baaaaaack!**

**Hello, all you wonderful people! I got to see snow last night, and I am in a very good mood! Megatron, on the other hand, is ****_not_**** in a very good mood. But then, as he rarely ever is, I think we shall ignore him at present. Or is that a poor life choice? Actually, ignoring Megatron may considerably shorten my life span, so I suppose I'd better put him in this chapter.**

Parturition

Jack paced the small compartment restlessly. It had been eight days. Surely the Autobots had figured out where they were by now? His treacherous brain hissed Megatron's words to him. _The Autobots have abandoned you, boy_. No, he refused to believe any such thing. Arcee would come! He paused in his steps when he heard a soft scratching noise that most certainly _wasn't_ Arcee. He listened: it was too light to be Orion or the Vehicons, Crossways and Sideways. Still, it was definitely the sound of somebot walking. Jack began to tremble when he recognized the sound: Airachnid. Slowly, he backed into the corner between his cot and the wall as he watched the open space above him. Sure enough, the spider-femme's faceplate soon appeared, gloating. "Well, well. If it isn't Arcee's little pet! Hello, Jack dear!" she cooed. The young man clenched his fists and glared.

Airachnid scoffed at his show of bravery and leaned on the wall, looking down into the compartment. "Really, Jack? Why so hostile? It isn't as if you'll be going anywhere for the foreseeable future. You may as well learn to get along with everyone." She mussed his hair with her delicate servos, eliciting a horrified shudder from the boy. The Decepticon femme's faceplate twisted into a cruel smile. Suddenly, from a compartment three boxes over, a soft yawn rose. Airachnid's whole expression changed and she straightened with a squeal. "Oh! My _habibti*_ is awake!" Purple arms reached into the berth and lifted a black and gold being that seemed to be made of soft metal. It was some three times Jack's size, but it had once been as human as he. Airachnid cradled the sparkling in her arms and made affectionate clicking noises. "_Hello_, Ankabūt, how are you today?" The shy voice of a grade-school-aged girl answered, "Well, Auntie Spider. And you?"

Jack sank to the ground and stared morosely at the wall. He had been introduced to Ankabūt, and the seventeen other "subjects" during the last few days. Evidently, Orion Pax thought it was very important for the members of the créche to get to know each other. And if Orion Pax thought it was important, Knock Out thought it was important. Ten of the seventeen were already in sparkling-form, like Ankabūt. The other seven were in an in-between sort of techno-organic body that still resembled a human. A series of tapping noises on the far wall of his little room drew the boy out of his dismal thoughts. With a short leap, he cleared the bed and crossed the floor to sink into the blue bean-bag chair by the wall. "Hey, Miko. What's up?" he whispered. Airachnid seemed preoccupied with the black and gold sparkling she had named Ankabūt, but he still worried that she might hear them.

Miko's voiced hissed through the partition that separated them. "I overheard Doc Knock talking to Optimus!" she sounded worried. "They're taking _me_ to the surgery next!" Jack's mouth went dry. He didn't know what "cybernetic recalibration" involved, but he, Miko, and Raf were all terrified by the idea. He pressed his hand to the wall as if he could reach her. "Orion won't let anything bad happen to you," was all he could think to say. "Jack, I'm scared! What if I lose all my memories and end up a Decepticon? What if they make me fight Bulkhead?" He had no answer for her: the same fears had been running through his own mind. "I don't know what's going to happen, Miko," he murmured, resting his head against the metal that divided them. "But remember what Ratchet said: being a Decepticon is a _choice_. If Optimus didn't make that choice when he lost his memories, neither will you." His friend's voice shook slightly as she asked, "Promise?" Jack blinked back tears. "Promise."

Knock Out strolled into the créche and froze when he saw a certain femme cooing over one of his charges. "Blast it, Airachnid! How many times do I have to say it? 0400 hours is their _nap_ time!" The spider-femme shuttered her violet optics rapidly in a vain attempt to look disarming. "But my _habibti_ was awake! She _needed_ her Auntie Spider!" Knock Out stormed over and plucked the sparkling from her servos. "No, y_ou_ needed your baby-fix! I have no doubt that she was fast asleep until you snuck in here. Now shoo! Before you wake the rest of them!" Airachnid pouted enormously, but reluctantly slipped out. "Auntie will be back, Ankabūt," she called. The medic shook his head, grumbling, as he set the tiny femme back in her berth. "Nighty-night, Ankabūt," he said firmly, and turned to Miko's compartment. "Hi there!" he said in a softer voice, attempting to put her at ease, "Ready for your check-up?" Miko barely suppressed a whimper as she was lifted from the drawer.

"I know, I know," Knock Out cradled the girl in his palms, "You're scared. It's okay, squirt! There's nothing scary about a doctor's visit!" His optics narrowed a bit. "Well, maybe booster shots and tongue depressors, but you don't have to worry about that until you're a little older." As he turned and began to carry her away, Miko reached out towards Jack with a grim, knowing expression in her eyes. The boy saluted her gravely, refusing to show his tears until medic and human had both gone. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He wasn't sure what he feared more: losing his humanity, or spending a lifetime under the "parental" guardianship of Lord Megatron. Perhaps both—the ideas were equally abhorrent to him. Overhead, a concerned voice interrupted his soft sobs. "What's this?" Orion Pax gently lifted Jack and held him up to his faceplate. "What's the matter, little one?" Tearful blue eyes met his optics. "You wouldn't understand," the human said sadly, "You've never had to change species!" Orion made a thoughtful noise and ran his servo over Jack's messy hair. "No, I haven't," he agreed, "But I understand why it bothers you."

He sat on the créche floor with the boy. "Transformation is part of our lives, our culture, young one. This is just the first of many changes you will experience. One day, you will go from a sparkling to a youngling, and you will have armor for the first time. That will be a little scary, too. Then, when you are older, you will have a vehicle mode!" The words did little to comfort Jack, and Orion was hard pressed to keep him from breaking down into tears again. "I just want to go _home_!" he cried out, "I don't _want _to be cybernetically recalibrated!" The red and blue mech wrapped his other hand around the young man like a blanket. "But if you continue to imitate the human species, your life span will be as short as theirs!" he admonished. Jack's jaw dropped. "What do you mean _imitate_?" he asked, "I _am _human!" "You are precisely 4.333639938% human," the archivist corrected, "Like most of the population of the state you were removed from." That was it. The boy began to hyperventilate. Knock Out emerged from the surgery an hour later, proudly carrying Miko, wrapped in a purple cloth. "Here she is, see? No harm done!" he assured Jack and Rafael as he held the patient up.

At first, she did not appear to have changed, but closer inspection revealed that her human skin had changed to a metal compound of a similar texture. Brown eyes now blazed orange like little balls of fire as she blinked sleepily, coming out of the anesthesia. "Preliminary treatment on little miss Miko, complete!" Knock Out said cheerfully. "Once the initial shock has worn off, we can finally move her forward into sparklinghood!" He handed the girl to Orion, who smiled gently at her. "Good morning!" he laughed, "Did you have a good nap?" Miko responded with a suspiciously electronic clicking noise, then covered her mouth in surprise. Her optics silently asked Jack, _What happened? What do I look like? _"Everything turned out okay," he answered her unspoken questions with a calmness he did not possess. "Alright, little mech," Knock Out reached for the boy, "It's your turn!" Jack did not struggle—not physically. He fully intended to resist any changes in whatever way he could, but he already knew that there was little he could do.

"Little" became "nothing" when Megatron entered the surgery moments later. "Ah! I thought you might want to witness the process, my Lord," Knock Out was all business as he secured Jack in a soft, pouch-like apparatus in the center of a re-formatted decontamination chamber. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe this is the first recalibration you've seen?" Megatron nodded silently, arms crossed over broad chestplates. "Well, I'll get things moving, and explain as we go if you have any questions." the doctor was in rare form, going so far as to whistle a sprightly tune as he opened valves and vents around the chamber. "You'll remember, of course," he said over his shoulder, "that the average sparkling comes online in a highly fragile state. No armor, no outer shell, just a squishy little bundle of metal and wires." In the restraints, Jack wrinkled his nose at the unflattering description, prompting a chuckle from both his captors. Knock Out stepped out of the chamber into the main surgery. "Of course, exposure to the radiation from Cybertron's sun and small doses of Cybertronium are vital in the body's process of forming that first protective shell. Without that, they remain soft-skinned and no bigger than when they were sparked."

Jack frowned, trying to hear through the glass as the muffled voice said something about a ship called the _Guileless_ that had been launched from their dying world in the late days of the War and presumed lost. The whirring of machines coming online soon drowned out the CMO's words and Jack's attention was locked firmly onto the bright lights flashing around him, and the dull throbbing of electricity. Dimly, it occurred to him that the pliable, slightly sticky material holding him felt an awful lot like spider webbing. Suddenly, he wasn't on the Decepticon warship. He was pinned to a tree as an awful pair of fuchsia optics came nearer and nearer with an evil smirk. _Arcee! Where was Arcee?!_ His breath came in gasps and he struggled against the webs. Outside the chamber, Knock Out frowned. "What the?" he tapped the monitor in front of him. "What is happening?" Megatron growled, hovering behind him. "I'm...not sure. It appears that he's having some sort of panic attack, but I don't know what brought it on! He was fine before the lights started flashing, so I assume it's connected."

"Will it effect the process?" the warlord asked. Knock Out shook his helm. "Initially? No. When his frame absorbs the radiation and Cybertronium, the most the panic attack will do is slow the change down incrementally. Now, when he makes the transition from heart to spark, then we'll have to watch him." The doctor flipped a switch and the former decontamination chamber was flooded with radiation harvested from Cybertron's main star. The boy within stiffened and his heart rate sped up dramatically as the energy soaked through his skin and things he'd thought immutable began to shift and transform. "Oh, that's bad." Knock Out threw open the door and darted inside. "What?" Megatron quickly tired of being ignorant of the situation and followed close behind, watching as his chief medical officer pulled Excilion from the restraints. "He's going into a fight-or-flight state," the doctor said grimly, "The sleeper coding is waking up faster than I thought—probably had something to do with that Key of his." He hovered a scanner over the boy rapidly. "I was afraid of this: he's triggered spark emergence early!"

Knock Out practically shoved Jack into the warlord's servos. "Hold him against your spark and sit down!" he ordered harshly. Megatron had no time to be shocked by his subordinate's change in tone. The smaller mech all but dragged his leader to a medical berth and pushed him down. "The kid's spark is shedding the protective organic covering it's been used to for sixteen years! Normally we don't go into this until Stage Two, when we can stabilize them. He needs another spark to sync to, or he's going to end up with a pulse murmur!" Megatron understood what was being asked of him, and even had the presence of mind to feel somewhat grateful that he hadn't been using Dark Energon of late. That would have been...counterproductive to say the least. In his hand, the small human gasped for air, eyes shut tightly as his organic flesh rapidly gave way to shimmering silver. Limbs jerked in spasms as organs re-formed into new shapes.

"Keep him steady," Knock Out warned, "If this goes wrong, we could lose him." Megatron leveled a dangerous glare at the red mech. "If things should indeed _go wrong, _I will personally hold _you_ accountable!" The doctor gulped and went back to his feverish attempts to stabilize Excilion. In the cloudy, fragmented haze surrounding Jack, he instinctively latched onto the first constant he found: a warm, steady pulse. The Decepticon warmonger gazed mutely down at the delicate form in his servos as a bright glow burst forth from its chest. "_There_ it is," Knock Out whispered reverently. Megatron could not speak for several moments. "That...that is his spark?" he managed roughly. Both mechs stared in awe at the tiny, pure light. "I've seen this eighteen times already," the doctor remarked in a choked voice, "But it never ceases to amaze me." Megatron merely nodded, unable to look away. Knock Out moved back to reset the chamber. "Orion believes that only 2 out of every 3 Earthlings are purely human." he said softly, "The survivors of the _Guileless_'s cargo adapted to their new environment and blended with the populace so well that approximately one third of the planet's population carry the Cybertronian genome."

Megatron finally tore his optics from the techno-organic youngling, who had finally ceased trembling. The massive warlord stood slowly, barely moving his hands. He seemed afraid that he would drop the boy, or break him. Megatron crossed the med bay and looked down at a screen containing a holographic representation of the globe. "We have a great deal of work to do." he sighed. Knock Out grinned. "It will be worth every second of it." He glanced down at Excilion, then up at Megatron, and the smile widened. "You've never held a sparkling before, sir, have you?" The warlord's expression was unreadable. "I was a _gladiator_, Knock Out." The medic shook his helm, never losing the infuriating smile. "He'll need to rest and recuperate after that little adventure. I suggest asking Orion about help beyond that. He's got a knack for that sort of thing." Megatron may have muttered something to the effect of, _When Vehicons fly_, but it was hard to tell.

**Bahahaha! Megatron doesn't know what to do with a baby. **

**Also, I made Jack have a flashback because seriously, the episode "Predatory" was kinda creepy, and I feel like with all the kids go through, eventually there's going to be some trauma to deal with. **

**And Megatron is, of course, probably going to try and keep "Excilion" in this stage for as long as possible: easier to manipulate that way. (Gah, he's scary!)**

**And if you're wondering what "Habibti" means, it's an Arabic word that means "Baby-darling". I dunno, I thought it'd be kinda funny to hear Airachnid saying it. Especially since "Ankabūt" means "Spider" in Arabic.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Good gravy and trout! This might just be my most-reviewed story ever! ('o') ← surprised face**

**Twenty chapters, can you believe it? And this makes twenty one! I guess, with the way my brain functions, short story anthologies just kinda work. Though, to be fair, the other story I'm working on right now (an adaption of brave kid's "Prime: Beast Saga") is taking up a lot of creative juices, so I'm going to be focusing more on that one than this one for a little while.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading this, and I hope you enjoy the next short story!**

Prior Commitments

Ultra Magnus was very confused. According to the data readout in front of him, one of his Wreckers had landed on Earth _six months ago_, but had yet to contact him! Had something gone wrong? The commander frowned and wandered into the base's communications room. "You appear troubled, old friend." Magnus looked up to find Optimus Prime leaning against the wall with a look of gentle concern on his faceplates. "I've got a Wrecker that's MIA," the blue Autobot responded, handing the datapad to his commanding officer. Optimus accepted it and read the report quickly. He shuttered his optics. "I was not aware this one was even old enough to join the Wreckers, Commander," he said mildly. Ultra Magnus made a sound very like a snort. "Neither was I, yet there he is! Or rather, there he _should be_."

Optimus and Magnus turned as Ratchet bustled into the room and began punching coordinates into the Ground Bridge. "Ratchet," the Prime began, but was cut off. "Not now! I have to go!" The medic swiveled and shouted over his shoulder, "Bumblebee! Rafael! Get your rears in gear, we're going to be late!" The young scout buzzed and chirped petulantly as he joined the older mech in front of the portal. "Where are you going?" Ultra Magnus asked. _Pilar's piano concert_! Bumblebee beeped happily, _She's playing a Christmas medley_! Optimus made a small, understanding noise. He smiled slightly as Raf scurried in, shrugging on a coat. Ratchet looked down at the boy. "Where's your scarf?" he demanded. The spiky-haired child grinned and shrugged. "Oh for the Allspark's sake!" the grumpy old doctor scolded, "Your Abuela made that! She's going to be there at the concert, and she's going to ask where it is. Now you go back in there and _put on the blasted scarf!_"

With much grumbling, Raf was coerced into wrapping the scratchy woolen caterpillar of a scarf around his shoulders. "It's not even that cold!" he complained as he was bundled into Bumblebee's interior. "Up-bup-bup! Shush! We're going to be late." Ratchet drove through the portal, followed by the younger two with a flash of light. There was a moment of silence following their departure, broken when the two old warriors left behind began to chuckle. "I never thought I'd see Ratchet behave like that!" Magnus shook his helm with a smile. Optimus nodded. "Indeed. His unofficial adoption into the Esquivel family has been good for him." They stared at the empty Ground Bridge, then broke into chuckles again. "I believe that's what Miko calls being a "mother hen", sir." Ultra Magnus made air quotes with his hooked hand at the phrase.

Belatedly, the commander of the Wreckers remembered why he had come to the room. "Sir, is there any way we can scan for my missing soldier's spark signature? I've not met him personally, and I do not have his comm frequency." Optimus began to sift through news reports on the screen before him. "It would be more efficient to follow his last known trajectory and look for humans reporting sightings," he explained. After the standard UFO fare, and yet another doctored photograph of Elvis Presley marrying an alien—"How many mates does that man have?" Magnus wondered—a small news article was found involving a meteorite striking the Abbey of Kells. Optimus raised an eyebrow. "It seems our wayward Wrecker landed in Ireland. He may not have a way of contacting us without blowing his cover."

Ultra Magnus sighed. "I'm going to have to go over there, aren't I?" he asked. He couldn't take Bulkhead along: the big green mech was out with Agent Fowler, oddly enough. He'd said something about acquiring supplies and that under no circumstances was Miko to be told where he was going. Miko was out with Wheeljack, herself, and had left bafflingly similar instructions that Bulkhead should not know where she went. Presumably, they'd had some sort of disagreement that he would have to sort out later. Smokescreen would have been happy to go with him, but Arcee and Jack had corralled him at the mess hall and dragged him off for some kind of bizarre scouting mission that involved the human wearing unusual shoes with blades on the soles. That really only left Optimus, as Bumblebee and Ratchet had just made their hasty exit.

The Commander was about to ask if Optimus was going to come when Nurse Darby appeared in the doorway. "Optimus, are you ready?" she asked. She smiled and nodded politely to Magnus. "Oh, I can wait a little while if you're busy," she said tactfully. The Prime held up a hand. "No no, I will be ready momentarily." The woman's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?" Optimus smiled broadly. "I _did _promise, after all," he replied. He turned to the Wrecker. "I will be back this evening," he said by way of explanation, "If you are unable to contact our missing soldier, let me know." With that, he transformed and June swung herself up into the cab. Before she slammed the door shut, Magnus heard her saying, "Now, Douglas Firs are nice, but I was thinking maybe a Spruce this year..."

The lone Autobot sighed and keyed the Ground Bridge to County Meath, Ireland. Hopefully he wouldn't attract _too _much attention. The blue semi found himself on a quiet, wet street with a chill wind blowing. He was definitely picking up the life signal of another Autobot, but for some reason it seemed to be coming from one of the buildings! Internally, he frowned and rolled towards a brick house that he would later learn was called Skyrne Rectory. Evidently, the Autobot nearby could sense his own spark signature, as a tentative Cybertronian voice asked from behind the main structure, "Hello?" Ultra Magnus rolled around the corner and very nearly stalled in shock. Sitting cross-legged on the flagstones was a blue and yellow youngling with some kind of cloth halfway draped over his frame. A small gang of children with similar "costumes" stood around him, their cheeks and noses red with the cold.

Well, so much for Priority One. "Is that another Spaceman, Hot Shot?" a curly haired tot asked, tugging on the curtains thrown over the youngling's shoulder. "I _think_ it is, but I'm not sure..." the Autobot trailed off and squinted. "Is it yourself, Commander Magnus?" There was nothing else for it. With a longsuffering sigh, the truck rolled into the courtyard and transformed. "Phwaw!" a runny-nosed little boy exclaimed, falling back on his rear, "Are you going to be that big when _you _grow up, Hot Shot?" The little Wrecker shrugged gamely, causing his odd accoutrement to slip halfway off. "Oh _Hot Shot!" _an older girl cried despairingly, "Now it's all gammy!" Hot Shot hung his helm penitently. "Sorry, Mag! Crack on, then." Ultra Magnus crouched carefully on the flagstones in front of his missing Wrecker. "Why haven't you reported to the base, Hot Shot?" he asked sternly. The younger Cybertronian jolted. "Oh stars, Commander! I'm sorry! I completely forgot, what with school 'n' all."

"School." Magnus repeated dully. Hot Shot nodded, grinning. "Aye sir. The president said he thought I seemed too young to be runnin' off for battle in America just yet, and thought I'd better at least finish primary school first." He motioned to boys and girls around him. "The government pays for us all to go to school here at the rectory, so I don't have to try and fit in a normal school building." This was undoubtedly the strangest conversation Ultra Magnus had ever had with a fellow soldier. And being in a group with Wheeljack, that was saying something. "Let me get this straight, soldier. The humans won't let you report in until you finish _school_?" "Yep!" Hot Shot rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly. "Right now, about all I can do is send updates." His optics brightened. "But Mairead says holidays are coming up, so I'll be out of school for a little while." For a moment, Ultra Magnus felt as though he were talking to a human, rather than an Autobot. "Well, are you in school right at this moment?" he prodded.

"No, sir." By now, all the children had clambered up onto Hot Shot's arms and legs, and were huddled in front of his spark in an attempt to stay warm. "It's Sunday!" Mairead said pointedly, "We don't _have _school on Sundays!" Magnus crossed his arms. "Then I see no reason for you not to report in. The Decepticons aren't going to wait for you to graduate, you know." This sparked a round of noisy protests from the humans. "He can't go _now!_" the girl fixing Hot Shot's "costume" cried, "We've got church tonight!" Hot Shot nodded in confirmation. "I'm in the Christmas pageant!" he said happily. Then, not so happily, "I'm the bad guy." One of the boys snorted. "It isn't that desperate, 'Shot! _Somebody_ had to be Herod, you should be glad that you get to act the maggot onstage!" If Ultra Magnus had been confused before, now he was utterly bewildered. "Herod? Maggot? I don't understand."

At this point, an elderly human male in a warm patchwork coat slipped out the back door. "Alright, chiselers," he called, "Are you about ready then?" He stopped and did a comical double-take when he saw Ultra Magnus. "Great Heavens above, sir! Who are you?" Magnus did not relish the idea of explaining this absurd situation to Optimus later. "My name is Commander Ultra Magnus," he said, stiffly but politely. "I came to find out why Hot Shot hasn't reported to me yet." The man scratched his chin. "Well, I'll imagine his schoolwork kept him fierce busy of late." He turned a stern eye to the youngling. "Did you take the anti-freeze, young man?" Hot Shot winced. "A biteen, Vicar. It was manky." The old man hid a smile and put his hands on his hips. "Well you'd better take the rest of it, my lad, or else don't come crying when your gears freeze!" He turned to Ultra Magnus. "Are you here to take him back with you?" he asked. There was a distinct sadness in his voice, and all the children instantly seemed to glue themselves to Hot Shot's frame.

Magnus debated with himself for a moment, then relented. "No, I'm not. I'm just here to remind him to send regular reports to my coordinates." he sent a quick glyph message to the younger warrior. "There, that's my comm, should you need to contact me." He stepped back and transformed, earning appreciative gasps from his audience. "_Deadly_!" the runny-nosed boy cheered. "Well, that's the general idea," Magnus remarked, surprising himself. The friendly humans waved goodbye as the commander rolled carefully over the icy street to the point where he meant to call for a Ground Bridge. When he returned to base, cold and wet, he very nearly walked smack into what was possibly the largest evergreen tree he had ever seen. The rest of the Autobots were congregated around the giant shrub, laughing and hanging unusual bits of shiny things on it. Ratchet was, for once, seated on the stairs, easily chatting with Agent Fowler and the Esquivel parents and grandparents.

The Esquivel children, under the dubious direction of Jack and Miko, were dashing back and forth with long strings of lights, laughing hysterically. One of them stopped and waved up at the confused commander. "Hi, Mr. Magnus!" Pilar chirped, "Wanna help us decorate?" Ultra Magnus supposed it had something to do with this "Christmas" he kept hearing about. "Where did _that_ come from?" he asked, pointing to the tree. Arcee poked her helm around the edge of the foliage. "They won't tell us!" she laughed, "Optimus says that's going to be a tradition now: we don't know where the tree comes from." The Wrecker turned an incredulous optic to his commander, who shrugged modestly and leaned—almost casually—on the console in a nearly identical pose to June Darby, who held a steaming mug in her hands. "So," she said, "Did you find the missing Wrecker?"

"He had...prior commitments."

**Might be a weeee bit too early for Christmas stuff, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head.**


	22. Chapter 22

**What if when Megatron and Orion Pax went to confront the Senate together, their motives were perfectly in sync? **

Rally

Transformers of every size and description filled the courtyard of the Council Hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famed anarchists. Some said they were heroes, some outlaws, and some terrorists. There were even a few who whispered in the dark of the night that they were some kind of messengers from the Core. A small band of mechs stopped outside the massive double doors. Barricade shifted restlessly next to Lugnut. "I don't like it!" he growled, "Something's going to go wrong!" Beside him, Soundwave stood impassively. "If we did not encounter resistance of some kind," he replied smoothly, "I might suspect we were doing the wrong thing."

The hushed chatter was not heard by the two Cybertronians standing at the head of the phalanx. The larger of the two placed his hand on the shoulder of the smaller. "Are you ready?" he asked quietly. A wry smirk. "Would it matter if I said I was not?" The hand tightened reassuringly for a moment, then released as the doors creaked open. "Just let me do the talking until the Council arrives," Megatron murmured as he passed Orion Pax, "after that it's all up to you." He straightened his shoulders and strode into the courtroom confidently, helm held high. Orion followed at a more sedate pace, helm tipped upward contemplatively.

The Senate had yet to arrive, and the galleries were filled with bots from diverse castes, each jostling the other for a chance to see the legendary gladiator. "Cybertron, awake!" Megatron boomed, instantly silencing all listeners, "Do you not see the burden weighing your people down?" He turned his steely blue optics to the higher balconies where the upper castes sat. "Do you not _hear_, Cybertonians? The energon of your brothers cries out for justice from the sands of the arenas and the tunnels of the mines and the kiosks of the archives!"

He raised a fist in the air, and many of the lower castes echoed the motion. "Are we not of one metal? Does energon flow in my veins, but not in the veins of the politician? _Listen_, Cybertron! Hear! There is a storm approaching, swift and terrible. Who among you remembers the books of prophecy?" Fists went down and helms turned away. Megatron stepped forward and glared up at the galleries. "Who among you still studies the words of Primus?" He shook his helm, disgusted. "None of you. Not a single mech nor femme. And _why_? Because it is forbidden to all but the highest caste!"

This was news to several in the orator's audience, and a concerned murmur swept through the crowd. Orion caught sight of several imposing old Cybertronians making their way to the dais and knew the time was nearly upon them. He looked over at his friend and ally, but it was hard to tell whether or not Megatron saw the Senators, so focused was he on his speech. "Do you know why Sentinel and his mechs keep you all from the Archives? It is because there is yet one book of prophecy that he never got his servos on!" he announced, "But I have seen it! And within its pages these words: 'The _Prime shall come to Iacon, and who shall stand before him?_' Words we all know by spark, for we thought they foretold the day Zeta became Sentinel. But we were wrong. That Prime is not Sentinel!" Gasps echoed through the room at the treasonous words.

"Who is this who stands before us, polluting the air with his ravings?" the sneering voice of Senator Ratbat interrupted. He looked condescendingly down at Megatron. "A slave and a librarian?" He chuckled dryly. "How inspiring. I suppose you are the heroes of the underclass?" The gladiator bared his denta in a feral smile. "No, I'm just the messenger." He stepped back to stand at Orion's side. "They're not going to listen," the younger mech concluded softly, with a hint of regret in his voice. His brother nodded. "I know. Just speak the words you were given, my friend."

The former archivist let out a deep vent and stepped forward. From the dais, Sentinel Zeta found himself wondering whether it was normal for a data clerk to have the frame of a warrior. Something didn't sit right about this young protestor, but he couldn't place it until he spoke. This was not the voice of Orion Pax, who had stood up before the whole of Cybertron to be counted as the friend of Megatron. This was someone older, more serious, and possibly _quite_ dangerous.

A rolling timbre shook the very throne on which Sentinel sat. "Sentinel Zeta, I have been to the Core." The audience gasped. The Core? Someone had actually braved the journey through the base of the Well of Allsparks? The revolutionary raised one mighty hand and pointed an accusing servo at the leader of the Senate. "This is what Primus says: let my people go!" Trembling, Sentinel shrank back in his seat. It was not that he believed the stories of a being living at the center of their planet, but there was such certainty in the words that he could not help but wonder what would happen if he refused.

But his spark was hardened, and he would not dissolve the caste system.

And so began the War.

* * *

**Megatron was a pretty good orator, so I wondered what it'd be like to throw him into an Aaron-like supporting role.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Another continuation...kinda tense.**

Reclaimed

With the commotion the sparklings made, it was surprising that it took so long for anyone to realize that Starscream was aboard. Even in a ship full of Decepticons, the young ones could tell when a mech was completely untrustworthy and when he was somewhat safe. Starscream set off every warning in their still-developing processors, and they kicked up a screech that brought Orion running from the lab. When he burst into the darkened room, all he saw was a thin, twisted shape bent over one of the berths. It snapped its helm towards him with a hiss, ruby optics narrowed, then fled before the lights could be turned on.

"Is everyone alright?" the worried mech asked, going from berth to berth. Two were missing. Rafael wasn't in his compartment, but Orion knew that it was because he was being observed in the laboratory. Knock Out had been worried that any possible Dark Energon residue would cause complications when the little one was fully recalibrated. Miko, the sweet little femme that Crossways and Sideways adored so much, waved a little golden hand at him frantically. "That was Starscream! I _know_ it was!" she shrieked. Absently, Orion reached down and cradled the magenta sparkling to his chestplates. "Starscream? Surely not! He couldn't have gotten onto the ship without Soundwave noticing."

Ankabūt clutched her scrap-metal sparkling-doll to her and whimpered from her drawer. "He took Excilion, I _saw_ him!" Pax's optics widened. He ran to the wall and slammed his fist into the comm button. "Crossways, Sideways! Get in here and guard the sparklings. An intruder got in here and snatched one of them!" Then, still holding Miko, the incensed archivist sprinted towards the central command deck. He didn't even bother with preliminary greetings. The second the doors slid open, he shouted, "_Starscream was here! In the crèche!"_ Instantly, the deck was on high alert.

"Is he still there?" Airachnid flexed her servos dangerously. Orion shook his helm. "He fled before I could turn on the lights, but he took one of the little ones." He turned a grim expression to Megatron as he spoke, quietly conveying exactly _which_ sparkling had been taken. Megatron stood, immobile and impassive. "Acknowledged." He turned calmly to the navigation crew. "Continue current course." The Eradacon did as he was told, somewhat rattled by his leader's lack of reaction. Only Orion and Soundwave caught the subtle shift in posture, and wisely stepped back out of arm's reach.

"Why would he even take a sparkling? He doesn't even have a steady supply of energon!" Breakdown reasoned. Airachnid looped her servos through his and snarled. "Revenge, darling. What else?" A chill ran through every mech present. Most of them didn't know who had been kidnapped, but they all knew that the former SIC had a monumental grudge against Megatron. Miko spat out a long strong of Japanese curses and Airachnid nodded fiercely. "You said it!" Still, Megatron's faceplate betrayed no emotion.

When a high frequency channel with an imbedded message was relayed to the command center, it was Soundwave who answered first and broadcasted the video clip to the main screens. It was Starscream, and he was on Cybertron. Dangling from one hand was a furious Excilion, kicking and scratching at whatever part of his captor he could reach. "Hello, _master_," the Seeker sneered, "_Lose_ something?" He hoisted the sparkling a little higher by the wrist. "Let go!" the small being spat, trying to twist out of his grip. Orion stepped forward with his optics narrowed.

"Bring him back." It was not a request. Starscream seemed genuinely startled to see what he had taken for a meek librarian standing so readily beside Megatron, but soon shrugged it off with a bored look. "You know, I don't think I will!" Suddenly, Jack broke free of Starscream's grasp and tried to run. The Seeker's faceplate contorted with rage as he seized the escapee by the helm. On the Nemesis, Megatron stiffened. Starscream held the sparkling by the neck over a sharp drop in the terrain. "Try that again and I'll let go," he hissed, "That's a fall that will kill you even before your miserable little frame is _splattered_ across the canyon floor!"

He turned venomous optics to the comm screen. "Send Orion Pax to Kaon, or our little friend here won't live to grow into his first set of armor! Who knows? Perhaps we'll go a-visiting to Tarn and see what's left of the late Shockwave's laboratory? I'm sure there are some _interesting_ things there." On the ship, Orion's fists tightened and he shook with rage. "I don't know how you got onboard undetected," he said gravely, "But I will find you. And I will kill you." Megatron placed a restraining hand on the furious mech's arm. "There's a waiting list," he deadpanned. He rolled his shoulders and sighed, as if this were merely an inconvenience. "You may as well stay where you are and put your affairs in order, Starscream." He terminated the link lazily.

The moment the screen went dark, he turned and stalked up the walkway. "Orion, you're with me. Soundwave, you have the bridge." he growled, mood seeming to change in an instant. He didn't even notice when cannons emerged from Pax's arms-although Orion was certainly startled. "We're not giving in to his demands, are we?" the archivist hurried to match the gladiator's stride. "No. Not the way he expects," Megatron summoned his sword and inspected it as he moved quickly to the turbo lift to the surface. Orion flexed his arms slowly, glancing with suspicion at the weapons that had manifested. "So help me, Knock Out, if you did this while I was in recharge," he muttered darkly. The lift ended at the Space Bridge, littered with fallen warriors. Megatron cursed viciously. "He's not working alone!"

On Cybertron, a shadowy figure waited with blaster aimed perfectly. "Alright! I did as you said," Starscream growled, "Now can you replace my T-cog or not?" A second pair of blasters joined the first. "Hand over the kid, then we'll talk." Excilion stopped struggling when he heard the voice. "_Arcee_?!" he exclaimed in delight. The blue femme sauntered out of the shadows with a grin. "Hey there, partner. You ready to bring Optimus home?" And Jack understood. They would find Vector Sigma, and when Orion came looking for them, they would give him back the Matrix. In the back of his processor, a voice whispered that it was a pity that he would have to betray one of his families to aid the other, but he quickly squashed the feeling.

The silver sparkling laughed as Arcee swung him around and up onto her shoulders as Bulkhead kept his guns trained on Starscream, but soon frowned. "Wait, what about Raf and Miko?" Arcee squeezed his servos reassuringly. "Bee is already aboard, trying to find them." Jack frowned. "He won't hurt Crossways and Sideways, will he?" Arcee looked confused. "Who?" Bright optics tilted to look at her upside down. "They're the Vehicons who take care of the sparklings. They spoil Miko rotten-she's kind of their favorite."

"And with good reason!" Bulkhead crowed. Arcee furrowed her brow as she and her partner turned toward Vector Sigma. "Didn't think you'd be defending the 'Cons, Jack...Jack?" Jack didn't answer. His optics had begun to glow a ghostly white and he slid down from the femme's shoulders, walking with a stiff mechanical gait. "Jack? Jack! What's going on?" Arcee received no reply. With stilted steps, he made his way across Kaon, following the voices screaming to him from the Key. Worried, his guardian followed him all the way to a massive door that rose from the ground. Vector Sigma. "Bulk," she murmured into her comm, "Take 'Scream back to base. We'll take it from here."

When Orion and Megatron arrived on Cybertron with weapons drawn, there was no sign of Starscream. On a rise before them stood Excilion with an unnerving, empty expression. "Probably a trap, Brother," Megatron whispered. Orion nodded. "Better I find out than you." He slipped up to the top of the hill and, finding no one but the child, bent to scoop him up. Excilion flung a hand out and spoke in many voices, none his own. "He has been found worthy." Megatron quickly realized what was happening and rushed to stop it. He was too late. Optimus Prime stood and glared down at Megatron.

Behind him, the white faded from Jack's optics and he crashed to the ground with a dazed expression. Megatron sheathed his blade. "Give me the child, Prime," he snapped. Optimus's optics hardened. "No."

"What do you remember?"

"_Everything_."

Blades were drawn once more as the Prime and the Warlord circled each other. Jack sat up and rubbed his helm. "Ow!" He groaned and looked up. "Uh oh."

Still disoriented, the sparkling forced himself to his pedes and tried to stand between the hostile giants. "Jackson, get behind me," Optimus rumbled. Megatron reacted swiftly, snatching him up with one hand. "Excilion," he asked gently, "Are you alright?" The young one nodded. "My head hurts," he complained to both mechs, "Please, stop fighting!" The warlord turned and set the sparkling on a ledge, out of the way of the impending battle. Optimus understood that this had the potential to become a very dangerous place. "You care for the boy." It was not a question. "Then let him return to his family." "_We_ are his family!" the warlord snarled, swinging at his nemesis. Optimus dodged and the battle was joined.

Jack watched in horror as fists and blades collided with armor. Maybe he'd only been on the _Nemesis_ for a few weeks, but he'd seen the way Orion and Megatron interacted: as old friends. And perhaps Megatron was stern and authoritarian, but there had been a spark of affection whenever he was around Jack. It was very hard to reconcile his previous experiences with the epic struggle he saw now. Desperately, he tried to distract them. "Hey! _Stop_!" His little voice went unheard. The young one snapped a piece of metal off the underside of the ledge he sheltered on and threw it. It bounced off of Megatron's back with a barely noticeable _clink_.

Something hissed next to the sparkling, and his optics widened as what he had taken to be immobile matter unfolded itself into a creature even larger than the Decepticon leader. Excilion's shrill shriek quickly caught the combatants' attention, and they whirled to face the sound. An Insecticon clung to the underside of the ledge, slowly stalking towards the little one. "Excilion!" "Jack!" both warriors shouted simultaneously, and charged forward. "What are Inzek'tik'n doing in the ruins of Kaon?!" Megatron hissed, aiming his cannon at the half-feral Cybertronian. Optimus didn't bother answering. He leapt to the outcropping and pulled Jack away from the creature, dropping back to the ground.

Enraged, the Insecticon made a horrific screeching noise and followed them down with a ground-shaking thud. It transformed into a hideous mech taller than Megatron. "Primus help us," Optimus whispered. "Well, He'd better, because nobody else will!" the Decepticon snapped. Clumsily, the beast swung at Megatron, who caught its fist on his crossed forearms. Bent nearly backwards with the strain, the gladiator dug his pedes into the ground and pushed back. Optimus fired his plasma cannon several times into the Insecticon's midsection, catching it slightly off-guard. It swung its misshapen helm to face the Prime and caught sight of the child in his arms. Ah yes, attack the weakest. That was how he had always done things.

From her watchpost, Arcee suddenly revved her engines and hastened to join the mechs. "Three more Insecticons just woke up!" she said grimly, pointing to a cloud of dust on the horizon. Megatron looked from the monster before him to the Autobots behind him and made an executive decision. "Take him." he said flatly. Optimus merely nodded and handed Excilion to Arcee. "Head to the Bridge. Do not stop for any reason," he cautioned them. The femme hummed an affirmative and darted away. "Brother..." the Prime seemed unsure of what to say, even as he ducked a swipe from the Insecticon. Megatron's faceplate was set in stone. "Go. But do not think I will not pursue you. I will retrieve Excilion, whether or not he is a Prime."

Optimus clapped his enemy on the shoulder. "Go with Primus." and with that, he departed, leaving the old champion of Kaon to face the last sentries of Cybertron. "Come now," he hissed, "Look at me! What have I got, eh? No claws, no fangs, certainly not your size!" His smile sharpened. "Do you know what else I don't have? Anything to lose." And he charged the Insecticons with a battle cry that would have made the Fallen quake.


	24. Chapter 24

**Well, this is an anthology of "what-if"s, is it not? Therefore, I went for something rather out of left field, I suppose.**

Last Lullaby

"What are you doing here?" the old mech hissed, "If you are caught, you will be killed!" The younger Cybertronian pushed his way into the humble building. "I know what you are, _who_ you really are. _Please_, you have to help me! She was a Senator, I am a _slave_. It was not meant to happen!" Alpha Trion nodded pointedly at the form in the other's arms. "And yet it did. What is it you would ask of me?"

The wretched mech shook his helm. "You have to erase my memories of his name and whereabouts." Alpha Trion recoiled. "Meddle in the processor of a sentient being? How can you ask me to do such a thing?!" He was cut off as a sparkling was pushed into his servos. "My overseers will scan my memory banks when I go back," the younger mech was on the verge of tears. "If they discover an inter-caste sparkling, they will slaughter him before my very eyes." Blue optics filled with coolant and he knelt before the old scribe. "I am his _sire_! I have to _protect_ him. This...this is the only way I know."

Alpha Trion was filled with compassion for the young slave. "I will do as you have requested," he said sadly. "Bid farewell to your child: you will not know he is yours when I have finished." The runaway's servos shook as he took the sparkling again. "Forgive me, little one," he whispered, "This is the only way. Never forget who you are, my son. Never forget your Carrier, or the false Prime who had her killed. You are descended from Primes and you deserve _so much better_ than I can give." A tear splashed onto the sleeping infant's faceplates, and he opened his round optics with a sleepy coo.

The fugitive smiled brokenly and trailed a servo across tiny cheeks. "I want you to remember me this way," the deep voice cracked. "No matter _what_ happens, no matter what I _become_. Remember me, my son, remember Tarn." Scarred lips brushed across the tiny helm. "I love you, Orion." The mighty frame bowed in sorrow as he handed the sparkling to the scribe. "Do it," he said tiredly. Alpha Trion nodded and placed a hand on the dusty helm. As the code began to bury itself in the processor, the ancient Prime murmured, "One day, you will remember. I cannot say when or how, only that it shall come to pass on another world, far from your own."

Confusion flooded the slave's faceplates and he melted into the shadows. Somehow, he thought he recognized the child in Trion's arms, but it could not be: they would never have let him keep his own sparkling. He knew only that he had somewhere a son he would never see again. He did not suppress the sorrow that weighed down his spark, nor the rage that slowly built under his armor and threatened to spill out upon the first provocation. When he was recaptured, and herded back into the pens, an energon prod was jammed into his side, dropping him. "And where have you been?" the squat slave driver sneered, aiming a vicious kick at the gasping Cybertronian. Dangerous optics met his own. "Do not touch me again," a low voice threatened.

The gangster was outraged. "Are you threatening me, scrapheap? You are a slave! Who do you think you are?!" The warrior wiped energon from the corner of his mouth and chuckled darkly. "Who do I think I am?" The temperature in the cavern seemed to drop as he slowly stood. "I am a gladiator." The rising intensity of his words drew the attention of the other captives as he advanced on the slave driver. "I am senior in the ranks of warriors in the Kaon arena. Sparkmate to a murdered femme, sire to a stolen sparkling." The energon prod was snapped in half and flung away, and sharp talons buried themselves in the overseer's spark as the warrior hissed,

"_I Am Megatron!_"


	25. Chapter 25

**It occurred to me that in Season 1, when Raf gets the Dark Energon poisoning, I felt like it would have taken a little more than just exposure to energon to rid him of the infection. Wouldn't there at least be a period of waiting before he was declared out of the danger zone?**

Creeps in the Petty Pace of Days

June had _not _been happy to discover that she couldn't transport Rafael to the hospital. "He isn't out of danger yet," Ratchet snapped, temper frayed, "Everything depends on the next thirteen hours." Medic and nurse alike glared at each other, hovering over the comatose boy on the gurney. "So help me, doctor, if this is a ploy to keep him here even a _second _longer...!" June stepped back hurriedly, dragging the gurney with her, as Ratchet set his foot down firmly. "How dare you?!" the old Autobot growled. "Do you really think I'd violate my oath as a medic?" In a short, sharp motion, he swept his hand across his chestplate. "May it never be!" He crouched, calmer, and pulled Rafael back towards him. "You may not like us, Nurse Darby, but I would greatly appreciate it if you _never _questioned my devotion to my family again."

"_Family_?!" June exploded. "Is that what you call yourselves? Do you actually think you're their real family? You're not even the same species!" There was a tense silence, and in the background, Jack wrapped an arm around Miko's shoulders—at once comforting and restraining. "That's being _related_," Ratchet murmured, half in a memory, "It's...not the same thing." June seemed to deflate, and discreetly wiped her eyes. "What do we need to do?" she sighed. Ratchet waved his scanner over the boy for a moment, then began to formulate a solution of diluted energon taken from Bumblebee. "We need to watch him," the doctor said authoritatively. "If he makes it through the night with no complications, he'll be out of danger and—" his voice caught for a moment. "And you can take him."

The night stretched out before them, and the faint heartbeat was hardly comforting. When the other Autobots joined them, it was decided that each member of the team would take a turn sitting with Rafael until morning. June had first watch, and spent it bustling back and forth, checking his fluids, his pulse, his breathing. _What did you get yourself into, June?_ She scowled at the I.V. drip's faint glow. _This is aliens and conspiracies and nothing you were ever trained for. _"It's going to be okay, honey," she sighed, even though Raf couldn't hear her. "We'll get you back to your parents soon, and you will never have to go through anything like this ever again." After precisely one hour, Jack and Miko came to relieve her. She left the two teenagers sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the fragile figure's hands and whispering to him about past adventures. Jack brushed a stray piece of hair from the child's face. "You're going to be fine, Raf." He said the words as if sheer willpower would make them come true. "You'll have a tale or two to tell your kids someday, won't you?"

They remained huddled over their friend protectively until it was Bulkhead's turn to watch him, at which point they reluctantly shuffled to the human's quarters where Arcee had left some blankets. The green giant sat awkwardly next to the gurney, and his optics blazed with a deep anger. "I'm going to catch that pit-spawned mech," he growled, using several other words that Optimus surely would have reprimanded him for uttering in the children's presence had he been in the room. "And when I do, I'm gonna bludgeon him to death with his own arm." June watched quietly from the shadows as the Wrecker slammed his fist into his palm. "Or better yet, I'll tear off his arms and legs and let _you _finish him off." His optics softened and he leaned over the tiny bed. "You gotta get better, kid," he pleaded, "I don't know if this family can take one more loss." After this statement, he became silent and morose. Bumblebee arrived a little early to take his shift, but no one could blame him.

By the rise and fall of his electronic voice and the motions of his hands, June could tell that the yellow mech was telling a story of some kind to the unconscious human. After several narratives of this kind, Bumblebee drooped and lay down next to the stretcher. With a mournful chirp, he curled his frame around the gurney and watched its occupant breathing shallowly. The human nurse blinked, startled, when the scout's doorwings began to shudder and a long, low keening noise wracked the air. Was Bumblebee...crying? Somehow, she'd thought that tears were a distinctly human trait, and it seemed _wrong_ to imagine a robot possessing them, yet there was no other explanation for the tortured sounds as the young warrior trembled and wept. June found herself wiping away tears of her own, and self-consciously turned away. Six more hours until dawn.

When Arcee entered the med bay, she stooped and helped Bumblebee to his pedes. "Go get some rest, 'Bee," she said kindly. She pretended not to notice the coolant-stained faceplate, and seated herself between Rafael and the human-sized table full of medical supplies. "Time to change the I.V., huh?" she muttered aloud. Delicate servos exchanged the emptied bag for one even further diluted. "Okay, Raf. Round two." The femme sighed and brushed her hand over the little boy's forehead. "Five more hours, Raf. You're almost there. And you've been so brave about the whole thing!" Never mind that the littlest human probably had no idea what was going on. Arcee just needed someone to talk to. She smiled. "You know, Bumblebee was just about your age when he got _his _first war-wound. He's going to hate me for telling you, of course, but he's _not _that much older than you." She talked for a long time about past skirmishes and the many times that Bumblebee had been injured—some of the incidents were quite humorous in nature—but finally lapsed into silence.

"Hey," she said suddenly, and for a moment June thought she'd been spotted. But Arcee wasn't talking to her, nor to Rafael. Her optics were unfocused, and her arms hung listlessly at her sides. "It's me again. I know, I said I wouldn't talk to you anymore after Cliff, but..." Servos clenched into a fist. "You can't take Raf. We _need _him. He's just a sparkling, really, he shouldn't have to go through this." Arcee crossed her arms and turned her helm away from the pitiful form on the stretcher. "Haven't I lost enough people?" she asked bitterly, "If anyone's going to die tonight, it might as well be me. I'll take his place, just leave Raf alone!" June's heart clenched painfully within her chest, and she could no longer even pretend to believe that the Autobots did not care deeply about the humans. With a sigh, Arcee rested her forehead on her knees and remained in that position until Ratchet came to relieve her.

The medic worked feverishly, nearly silently running scans and keeping the I.V. bags filled with surprising ease. "You're nearly there, Raf," he said quietly, "Just a little longer, alright?" Ratchet stopped for a moment to examine his sleeping patient. "Someday, little fella, this war is going to end," he sounded wistful, "And when it does, Megatron had _better_ hope Optimus gets to him first." His optics narrowed. "First Bumblebee's voice, now this? Believe me, Rafael, the old tyrant is going to learn firsthand that you do _not_ meddle with my boys." Ratchet sighed and hovered his hand over the bed for a moment before withdrawing it. "I'd never thought about it before," he remarked, and June could not tell who he was addressing, "But they are the sons I might have known—if you had seen fit to grant them to me." His voice cracked. "Was I arrogant to assume that we could always protect him? I swear upon my very spark, I will not be so complacent again, only _please_ do not take Rafael!" Nurse Darby realized suddenly that Ratchet, and probably Arcee before him, was—in his own way—praying, and she felt a stab of shame for spying on them.

The hours passed slowly, and at last Optimus Prime entered the room, silent and grave. "How is he?" he almost whispered the words. Ratchet lifted his helm, bleary-opticed. "No change for the worse, but no noticeable change for the better." This was met with a nod from the Prime. "Go and rest, old friend. I will sit vigil with Rafael for what remains of the night." Optimus laid a hand on the medic's shoulder in sympathy. As soon as Ratchet was out of the med bay, Optimus knelt beside the gurney with a determined expression on his faceplates. "This was my failure," he murmured to the boy, "Forgive me, Rafael. I believed that you and your friends were safest with the Autobots." he paused a moment. "I still believe it." A sigh, heavy with years echoed in the quiet room. "When you recover, little one, Nurse Darby will take you back to live with human kind, and I do not think she will allow you to return."

June slid further into the shadows and tried to squash the guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach as Optimus brushed a servo over Rafael's hair and continued to speak to him. "I cannot stop her, not legally. And yet...and yet whenever I think of you and Miko and Jack being taken from us, I feel an urge to snatch the three of you up and spirit you away to some remote corner of this globe, where no one would think to look for you." He smiled sadly. "It would do more harm than good, of course, but no one ever said the spark was quite as rational as the processor." As the clock turned to three o'clock in the morning, Optimus's mind turned to Cybertron, and a dim—almost ancient—memory of something some unidentified mech had done when he was a sparkling. The mighty helm dipped low and he held his hand out over the comatose child. A stream of Old Cybertronian flowed from his lips in a low baritone. It sounded peaceful, hopeful. June backed away towards the humans' quarters, unwilling to intrude any further.

Optimus felt a pulse from the Matrix as the sun began to rise outside of the base. "Rafael?" he spoke as prompted, "Open your eyes." Faintly, the boy stirred, and round eyes fluttered open. "Were you singing?" a tiny voice croaked. The Prime beamed down at him. "In a way. How is it with you, Rafael?" The human tried to push himself into a sitting position, but soon gave up. "I'm okay. What happened?" Optimus opened his mouth to explain, but caught sight of several faces peering around the edge of the door. "It can wait, little one." He stood and backed away so that Jack and Miko and Bumblebee could crowd into the room. "Raf! You're awake!" Miko wrapped her arms around the younger and squeezed. "Geez, Raf, don't you _ever _scare us like that again!" she scolded. Jack grinned and clapped the boy on the shoulder in camaraderie. June made her official reappearance into the med bay and disconnected the I.V.s. "You're on a strict liquid diet until this evening," she warned him, "We'll be watching you."

Raf kicked off the thin sheet and held his arms out for his guardian. Bumblebee cooed happily and held him close to his spark. "I'm sorry I worried you, 'Bee," Raf hugged as much of the Autobot as he could reach. "Are you okay?" A snort sounded from behind them. "Ratchet is fine, too, by the way. He didn't almost go into spark arrest at _all_!" Rafael laughed and turned to look up at the medic. "Sorry, Ratchet." The red and white mech shook his helm, grumbling as he took the human from the scout. "Just don't do ever do that to us again." Optimus turned to catch Nurse Darby's eye. "Will you be taking him to a human hospital, now that he is awake?" he asked gravely. The room fell silent, waiting for her reply. June's eyes burned and she blinked rapidly as she watched the robots crowd together around the children. "I don't know how I would explain it without getting the government involved." she tried to sound irritated, but she was just too emotionally exhausted.

Bumblebee whooped and did an impromptu dance of joy. "Bumblebee!" Jack tried to sound stern, but there was elation in his tone as well. Ratchet set Raf down on the nearest console and began running another scan. "Nurse Darby," he said humbly, "If you have no intentions of leaving yet, might I impose upon your time? I would greatly appreciate any advice on pediatric care that you might have." _What could it hurt?_ June wondered, _In for a penny, in for a pound. Isn't that the old saying?_ "Alright," she sighed, "But we _will_ be discussing the children's involvement in this war." The collected Autobots seemed to wince slightly at her tone. The two-toned warning alarm quickly alerted those assembled that all was not right with the world. "Prime!" it was Agent Fowler. "Have you looked outside?" That was _never _a good sign. "No, Agent Fowler, why?"

The man sighed. "Just turn on the news, you'll see why." Miko vaulted over the railing and flipped on the screen. Weather report after weather report after weather report flooded the channels. "You gotta be kidding!" she exclaimed, "Earthquakes? Tornadoes? It's all over!" The humans stared in a mixture of shock and fascination as the disaster warnings poured in. "You think it's the Dark Energon?" Arcee asked in a low tone. "It _is_ against nature," Ratchet mused, "Making it at least somewhat likely that nature would react against it." Optimus frowned. "When I battled Megatron, Dark Energon was pouring out of the earth. Can you isolate and track the source of the eruption?" The medic nodded tersely and set to work. June observed the way the Autobots and the humans fell into what was clearly a well-known pattern of preparation and assistance and realized something. She could not take the children away from the base without causing massive damage to these surprisingly vulnerable beings. A smile crept across her face as Arcee made some quip about that girl at school Jack liked, and her son playfully swatted the femme upside the helm.

This was part of a warzone, there was no denying, but neither could it be denied that this was a home.

This was a family.


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello, dearest readers! This is now my longest work. Gracious, but I'm liking this anthology stuff! Maybe when it's all finished, I'll separate a few of the related ones into stories of their own.**

**On a totally unrelated note, I took the Myers-Briggs personality test recently. They gave me a list of fictional characters with the same personality type as me and I was somewhat startled. I am apparently in the same category as Dr. Watson, Miss Marple, and ****_wait for it_****...Optimus Prime. Optimus. Stinkin'. Prime. I have the same personality type?! Waaaaaaaat?! What is this—I don't even—I can't even handle the geekness right now you guys.**

**You know, I suppose this technically counts as a crossover. Bit of an undertaking, this: I'll be attempting the style of Arthur Conan Doyle. (Hence "chapter" names. Although, if I have time, and if you all like it, I might make it a full blown story.)**

The Adventure of the Spider's Web

Chapter 1: The Dubious Delegation

It was in the Autumn of 18- that I found myself once more in the lodgings of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, at Baker Street. As we sat before a cheerful fire, I commented on the morning paper with its rather ambitious headline, "Death Stalks Whitechapel". "It hardly staggers the imagination," I remarked, "The only surprise lies in that they bothered to report these when so many others are never discovered."

"Indeed?" said Holmes, "You would appear to have an astonishing lack of imagination then, my friend." I protested, of course, citing the deplorable conditions of the East End as a breeding ground for such characters as the perpetrator of the killings.

He leaned back into his chair and mused quietly on the Whitechapel murders. Two victims, both young men of similar height and weight and unconnected by anything but the misfortune of living in the slums of the East End. Both had been found in a barely recognizable state, two miles apart. I asked Sherlock Holmes whether he intended to investigate, as the cases seemed of such unusual interest to the Yard. "I will not," said he, "Let Lestrade do his own work for once." There was a glint in his eye of some other problem teasing at his mind. "You have other cases, I suppose " I guessed idly, tapping my pipe on the grate.

Holmes took a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his dressing gown and laid it on the table between us. "There, Watson, what do you make of that?" I smoothed out the creases and perused the elegant scrawl. It was a letter from the solicitors' firm of Magnus, Moon, and Furman, requesting advising on a delicate matter. A client of theirs—unnamed, of course, but implied to be very powerful—had sent word that he wished to change his will. He had not come in person, but rather sent a missive in the hand of a grubby messenger boy who refused to hand it over without monetary compensation.

The alterations suggested in their client's will were unpalatable to the solicitors, and evidently bordered upon the absurd. Messrs. Magnus, Moon, and Furman suspected some foul play involved and wondered whether Mr. Holmes would be good enough to look over the affair. I glanced up at my friend. His long fingers were steepled together and he observed me keenly. "You are wondering why I choose to divert my energies to something as mundane as a will when murder is abroad in the East End." As usual, he was absolutely correct in his deductions. "My dear fellow," said he, "Life is full of the fantastic. It is the _commonplace_ that I find the most absurd!"

"But Holmes!" I cried, "Why don't the solicitors speak to their client themselves?" Catlike, Holmes sprang forward and seized the paper from my grasp. "Ah-ha! You have struck upon it, Watson. Rather than go to this evidently important man, they would rather ask a consulting detective for his not inconsiderable opinion. And therein lies my interest in this matter." He seemed to perch at the edge of his seat like a hawk, eyes alight. "I don't suppose you've any obligations this afternoon, old boy?"

As it turned out, I'd nothing planned for the day and readily agreed to the suggestion of paying a visit to Messrs. Magnus, Moon, and Furman. The first of these glared at us over a sheaf of papers. "I have no time for idle bodies," the militaristic fellow postulated. I introduced us, whereupon his manner instantly transformed. "My _dear_ sir, I'd no idea! Do forgive me, I've been in the midst of a rather messy affair regarding the Rochester estate." He was a solid man in his fifties, our Mr. Magnus, and not one for nonsense. "Which is precisely why we've asked for your help," said the man. "I've known Lord Prime for many years, and never had he made a change to his will without _personally_ contacting me! To send a mere note in the smudgy hands of a street urchin—why, I cannot countenance it!"

Holmes asked to see the will, but Mr. Magnus was adamant that we speak to the other partners first. "Lord Prime is a known philanthropist," the detective remarked, "It is common knowledge that he is leaving a sizable amount to the poor, therefore it cannot be a charitable endeavor of _this_ sort that troubles you. Your firm participates in the care of the destitute yourselves, so I hardly imagine that you would object to more money being given to the poor." He fixed his gaze on Mr. Magnus. "However, perhaps you worry that the money is going to some unworthy character. Having served in such a high position in the military, I'm sure rank is very important to you."

The man started. "How the devil did you know I was in the military?" My friend looked bored. "Mr. Magnus, pray don't insult me. Your jacket, though of a fine quality, carries two small punctures at the lapel from where a medal has been pinned. That the holes are pronounced enough to be seen from a distance means that you are accustomed to wearing the award, as does your bearing. Even if I hadn't been able to tell by the very noticeable way in which you carry yourself, your own skin would still have betrayed you." The solicitor looked astonished. "My _skin_, sir?" Holmes motioned to the man's large hand. "You sport a faded tan, sir, and the texture of your skin suggests repeated exposure to sunlight. Your left hand shakes slightly, a remnant, perhaps, of some tropical disease. Malaria comes to mind. You never got that on this continent!"

"Wonderful!" Mr. Magnus laughed, "You truly are a marvel, Mr. Holmes. Already my mind is more at ease." At this juncture we were joined by Mr. Furman—a sallow, nervous man with quick, birdlike movements—and Mr. Moon: a rubicund fellow with an air of jollity and an inflated notion of his own importance if the way he kept inserting names into the conversation was any indication. "What is it, exactly, that you fear is happening?" I asked politely, once we were all seated. "Well I shouldn't like to _say_," Mr. Furman mopped his brow, "Offhand, I shouldn't like to _say_."

"Well_ I_ should!" the boisterous Mr. Moon interrupted, "I think it's blackmail!" The man's partners scoffed into their teacups. "Blackmail?" I asked, "Why not forgery?" Mr. Furman shifted in his chair and set his saucer down. "Oh, it couldn't have been! It was sealed with the crest of the House of Prime, my dear doctor. That ring never leaves Lord Prime's hand!" Once again, Mr. Moon broke in on the other man's words. "Ah, not quite, not quite Mr. Furman! You recall, of course, that he never wore it during the scandal with the late, disgraced Count Polidori?"

"Mr. Moon, what could a vampire story possibly have to do with the case?" Mr. Magnus asked peevishly. A heated argument ensued, during which Mr. Furman laconically handed the notice in question to Holmes and I. "Mr. Magnus," Sherlock uttered, "it may have everything to do with your case!" With whispered instructions to pay attention to the solicitors' facial expressions, he handed the creased parchment to me. "Be it noted that previous conditions still stand," I read aloud.

"Legacies left for the Foiche, Shackleton, and O'Garvie families and Doctor Rach. Charge and keeping of the library falls to Miss Arcee d'Iacon." I raised my eyebrows at the sum. Let it never be said that the head of the house of Prime did not look after the members of his household. I continued, "I intend, however, to make the following changes: as I have found myself unwitting guardian to a young woman who shall remain unnamed for reasons of privacy. I wish to settle an amount for her dowry, as my ward intends to marry. Concerning my estate, upon my passing, all properties and titles shall be held in trust until the twentieth birthday of the heir of House Prime. Once more, for personal reasons, my heir shall go anonymous. You will know him by my signet ring."

I looked up at the solicitors. "You're quite right, gentlemen," I said, "This is highly unusual!" I handed the paper back to Mr. Furman. "Is Lord Prime much in the habit of writing this way?" Mr. Magnus frowned. "It was certainly written by him, if that's what you mean. The trouble is, I'm not certain why he should be so secretive!" Sherlock Holmes leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Yes, it certainly is vague. Perhaps he felt the need to secrete his intentions from unfriendly eyes? Directly following the Polidori case—which, you will no doubt recall, I practically solved _for_ the Yard—Lord Optimus was neither seen nor heard from for seven weeks. All business was conducted via letters delivered by a gentleman of—how did your report word it?—unknown origin."

He glanced condescendingly at the assembled gentlemen. "And while the fellow, who is _quite_ clearly an ally of the House Prime, ran the risk of being murdered in the streets—don't look so shocked sir, there is a very real rivalry between the houses of Prime and Kaon—you would seem to have a poor opinion of the young chap. I wonder if you might describe him for me?" Moon turned his round body in the seat, buttons catching on the armrests. "My dear fellow! Whatever for?" he asked. Holmes smiled. "I'd like to know what kind of man is entrusted with a missing lord's business. Please, just to satisfy my curiosity." Being unfamiliar with Holmes's manner, they supposed this was all he meant.

For myself, I began to understand that my friend was beginning to have his doubts as to whether this case was even worth the hearing. It sounded preposterous to me that a missing ring and the infamous Polidori case would have anything to do with Lord Prime's puzzlingly secretive will. Still, Sherlock saw—or thought he saw—some sort of connection, and likely wouldn't be satisfied until he had proven it. There followed an account of the most astonishing person imaginable. If Messrs. Magnus, Moon, and Furman were to be relied upon, this mysterious fellow was both tall and short; an Irishman, an Englishman and an Italian; no younger than seventeen and no older than twelve.

Apparently he had a shifty look and a heart of gold; an East End manner and a West End accent and—if Mr. Moon was to be believed—Lord Prime's signet ring. I began to feel the approach of a splitting headache, so contradictory were the statements. And this from solicitors! Despairingly, I turned to Sherlock. If anyone could parse the tangled mess to find data, it was surely he. His eyes were closed once more, fingers steepled under his sharp nose. "I fear I may have been a trifle unclear in my intent when I asked for a description, gentlemen," he admitted. "I'm not, strictly speaking, interested in the _identity_ of the messenger boy, but rather in your _perception_ of him. You each describe someone completely different, and yet you expect me to share your concerns about a dubiously worded letter. Why not ask the man yourselves? Is that not your duty as his solicitors?"

The men hemmed and hawed for a moment, and my friend looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "This shall be the heart of it," he whispered, and I nodded. So far, the solicitors had talked _around_ the problem when directly questioned. Their repeated attempts to out the ring-bearing messenger boy as a thief or blackmailer were hardly conducive to deciphering the clouded meaning of the letter. I very nearly pitied them, for in their attempts to conceal their true worries, they'd only piqued Sherlock's interest, even as I despaired of the whole matter. At last, Mr. Magnus adjusted his tie and spoke quickly, almost nervously. "We _did _try, Mr. Holmes," he began. "At first, I paid a personal call on Prime Manor, but he was from home at the time, and an unfamiliar woman answered the door. A _nurse_." He made his opinion of a woman in that profession very clear with a disdainful twitch of his lip. "I can only suppose that someone was ill in the house. One of the servants, perhaps," he continued, "In any case, I asked that a message be left for Lord Optimus. I was directed to a study where I found the selfsame messenger boy perusing a set of very old and valuable books as if he owned them!"

He looked dreadfully discomfited at the idea of someone so unfamiliar to him apparently having free reign over what was, by all accounts, one of the largest libraries in Britain. "I left a notice that I wished to speak to Lord Prime, but he insisted I speak to him while the master of the house was out. Can you imagine? He wasn't even of age!" The former military man faded into undignified grumbling as Mr. Furman took up the tale. "Mr. Magnus returned to the firm quite discombobulated, as I'm sure you can imagine. We waited for a few days, but no answer was forthcoming from Lord Optimus. We sent a messenger to the Manor not two days ago, but we've begun to fear that our notice never reached its destination." I confess that I was hard pressed to keep a patronizing tone from my voice as I asked them whether it was more likely that Lord Prime simply hadn't answered. "Oh no, sir!" Mr. Moon mopped his shining brow in a sweeping, grandiose gesture. "You see, our messenger is one of the poor chaps who ended up on the front page of this morning's paper! I'm to understand that the constable found him in—well, in a few different places to put it delicately—with a curious pictogram of a spider drawn on the brick."

"A spider, you say?" Holmes's eyes fairly glowed. He sprang from the chair and leaned over the table. "Tell me, were there marks about the wrist as of some strange adhesive surface?" The men blinked, owl eyed. "Why, yes. I believe so, yes." Holmes rubbed his hands together. "And the severing marks occurred in the order of the carotid artery, pulmonary artery, hepatic vein and jugular?" Mr. Moon turned a pale shade of green and held a handkerchief to his mouth. "I hardly know, sir! I wasn't on hand to examine the wretched thing!" Sherlock paced excitedly. "Tell me one last thing, gentlemen. What color was your errand boy's hair?" First he looked to Mr. Furman, who protested that he rarely saw the man and couldn't be expected to remember. Mr. Moon thought it was dark brown, but said that as he rarely washed it, it might have been blond. "It was black. Coal black and filthy." Mr. Magnus declared at last. "But on Sundays, sometimes you'd see him in the streets having washed up a bit."

Holmes grinned triumphantly at me. "Well well. So _she_'s back, is she?" I paled. "Holmes! LSurely you don't mean..." He seized my arm and pulled me upright. "Absolutely, Watson! La femme araignée!" I shuddered, for well I remembered coming across this devilish creature's "handiwork" before, on a previous adventure. "They never put those details in the papers, Holmes," I said as we left the offices with promises to look into the case. "I imagine the Yard wished to avoid a panic." The gleam had not left my friend's eyes. "Come along, Watson. We've work to do!" We hailed a cab and sat quietly for a moment, watching the wet streets glide by. "Holmes," I said, "I don't understand. What does the murder of the messenger have to do with this will?" Sherlock steepled his fingers once more. "That is precisely what I mean to find out, my dear chap. I suspect, however, that the messenger was targeted more for his resemblance to another young fellow than the paper he carried." I did not understand, and told him so. "What young fellow, Holmes?"

"Why, the heir to the signet ring of the House of Prime!"

**To be continued?**


	27. Chapter 27

**Goodness gracious! I did ****_not _****expect that last chapter to receive such a warm welcome as it did, but I'm flattered! Thank you all for the reviews, now I must pose a question to you all: How would you feel about me taking all the Victorian Prime stories and putting them together into one story? One separate from the anthology, I mean. What do you think?**

**This short one-shot isn't Victorian Prime related, sad to say. It's actually a re-telling of two true stories with an imagined twist. You see, my great-uncle—the reason Optimus Prime always felt so familiar to me—fought in World War Two, and he sometimes had rather extraordinary things happen to him. Two of the stories approach the unbelievable, but that man never lied to me, so I see no reason to doubt them. Still, I found myself "what-if"ing about his tales, and this happened.**

**Note: I didn't put my great-uncle's real name. It wasn't a very common one, and I'd like to keep it private :) Otherwise, everything from WWII in the stories you are about to read (minus the Cybertronians) really happened.**

* * *

Did I ever tell you?

Colonel Kevin J. Goddesknyght leaned back in the rocking chair with a smile on his weatherbeaten face. In the cracked driveway, his nephew's little daughters played quietly in a preschooler's mock-up of a gas station, very seriously discussing oil prices together in imitation of adults. With a sudden shout, the one in the tiny plastic car declared that she had no need of paying for gas and sped away as fast as her short legs could carry her, while her sister yelped in outrage and gave chase—waving a jump-rope and shouting dire threats. Kevin chuckled and shook his head, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Next to him, the current youngest child clutched a Raggedy Ann doll and pointed at the street. "Who dat, Unca Kev?" The old man opened one eye to see what the toddler was pointing at. An old-fashioned jeep in deep army green was parked on the curb at the other side of the street.

"I don't know, Bridget," he smiled, leaned over, and moved a checker piece on the old outdoor board. The two year old stared suspiciously at the plastic pieces. "Hey! I tan't do dat." Kevin smiled at the little girl. "Ah, that's alright. I'll teach you when you're older." One of the older girls, having tired of chasing her sister, climbed the porch steps and sat down on an overturned flowerpot. "Uncle Kevin, who's that?" she asked, pointing to the same jeep, "They parked there a couple minutes ago, but nobody got out!" _Hey Colonel, there's nobody drivin' that Jeep!_ Kevin shook off the memory and ruffled the six year old's curls. Kelsey tipped her head to the side like an owl. "I think they got _noooo_ driver." she declared, not even realizing the strangeness of the situation. In the driveway, Vivian was still pedaling around in the Cozy-Coupe car, but she too had noticed the old green jeep. "Uncle Kevin, is that as old as you?" she asked innocently. "Maybe," the calm voice assured the three that there was nothing to be worried about. "Then again, you girls know I'm older than dirt!" Kelsey grinned up at the old man. "How old is dirt, Uncle Kevin?" "Older than you. Now go play," he shooed her back into the driveway where she promptly stole the toy car from the five year old, who set up a loud protest.

Colonel Goddesknyght turned his gaze back to the familiar old car. "What are you doing here?" he wondered under his breath. The morning wore on and the jeep did not move. No one climbed out of it, no one got in. It was open-topped, so the girls would have seen very clearly if there had been a driver. He started slightly. It couldn't be one of _them, _could it? The Guardians? He looked down at Bridget, who had fallen asleep in her little wagon with her doll and a coloring book. "Kelsey, Vivian, come watch your sister for a minute," he called. Immediately, the little girls dropped their impromtu game of Grand Theft Cozy-Coupe and hurried up to the porch to keep an eye on their current youngest sibling. Kevin crossed the street determinedly and stopped in front of the worn silver grill of the vehicle, still decorated with the strange face-like symbol. "It _is _you, isn't it?" he breathed, brushing wrinkled fingers over the paint. He does not block out the memory that rushes over his mind.

_It is a dark night in the countryside, and a young soldier has driven a long, long way. He is absolutely exhausted, but he must keep watch for German bombers. He sighs, and suddenly catches a glimpse of a shape on the road up ahead. Goddesknyght dims the headlights and pulls the jeep he was assigned to up next to the silhouette. It is another jeep, with two men in it. One is asleep, the other barely awake. He nods to them in camaraderie and the awake one sends him a friendly wave. "It's alright, you can go to sleep here," he seems to say, though he never opens his mouth. Kevin shuts off the engine, and the lights fade with a protesting whine. He settles down into the seat as the occupants of both vehicles take the rare opportunity to rest. _

_Something is keeping Kevin Goddesknyght from sleeping peacefully. He dozes fitfully at first, just enough to keep his body moving. Then, in the darkness, "Kid! Psst! Kid!" It is obviously directed at the young soldier: the men in the next jeep are closer to their thirties. "Kid! Wake up, we gotta go!" Kevin stirs, mumbling, and blinks slowly. There is no sign of the mysterious speaker, but somehow his jeep's lights have come on by themselves, and there almost seems to be a faint glow from that bizarre little face-like thing in the middle of the steering wheel. He sits up and stretches, then freezes. In the rising light of dawn, combined with the jeep's headlights, he catches sight of the symbol on the jeep next to him. Not an Allied troop vehicle.. He'd been sleeping in the middle of the road next to Nazi soldiers the whole time! The two Nazis are still asleep, oblivious to the dumbfounded American soldier staring at them. He quickly drives away, forgetting about the mysterious voice._

Goddesknyght tapped the green paint. "You got me out of a scrape or two during the War, didn't you?" he murmured. The metal seemed to warm slightly under his fingers. "Wow!" his nephew's voice startled him. "Is that an old Ford GPW?" Martin had come outside to stand in the yard, a few feet away. Kevin nodded. "I used to drive one of these," he remarked. "Looked just like this fella." Vivian skipped down from the porch to stand next to her father and rocked back and forth on her mary janes. "Is it a boy jeep, Uncle Kevin?" she asked earnestly. The old soldier cracked a grin. "Well, I think so. Why don't you ask him?" The kindergartner obliged happily, scurrying across the street to grab hold of her great-uncle's hand. "Hey!" she chirped, "Are you a boy jeep or a girl jeep?" Kevin pretended to hear something in the engine. "He says he's a boy jeep." Vivian giggled. "Viiiiiiv! Whatcha dooooin!" her older sister screeched from the porch, waking their baby sister. Martin grimaced. "Kelsey!" The six year old ducked her head sheepishly.

Little Bridget rubbed her eyes and sat up in the wagon. "Where Vivi go?" she asked, startled, "She not dere!" Kelsey giggled. "She's across the street, Bridgy." Hearing this, Colonel Goddesknyght raised an eyebrow. He remembered a time when _he'd _woken up to find something important missing. He glanced down at the jeep. "You were there, too, old friend." he traced the face on the grill and remembered.

_It was another black night in the countryside, and Kevin Goddesknyght was trying very hard to __**not **__be caught by the German soldiers patrolling the area. He scowled down at the glowing blue rock his commanding officer had handed him before all but shoving him into the muddy jeep. Why did he always end up with this one? And what did it need that blue rock in the glove box for? "You know what you are?" he muttered to it, "High maintenance. You're high maintenance." The jeep lurched to the side suddenly as if in protest, throwing Kevin against the dashboard. "Oh knock it off!" he grumbles. He didn't know why he talked to the jeep. Maybe it was because it seemed to have so much personality. More than necessary. Goddesknyght stifled a yawn. "Doesn't look like there's anyone but us out here," he sighed. There were several more hours of silent driving, with one stop to put the blue rock in the gas tank. "You're one kooky jeep." he'd mutinously grumbled._

_At last he came to a small farmhouse, right on the edge of a village. It had been completely abandoned—and small wonder, with the bombs that kept dropping! Kevin scratched his chin and assessed the building. There was a barn next to it, he noticed. "That'll do," he said, and steered the jeep into the musty structure. The creaking doors were swung shut, and Kevin settled into the hay. It was scratchy and smelly, but he didn't mind. "G'night, troublemaker," he growled at the vehicle sitting innocently in the middle of the barn. Then he pulled his hat down over his face and soon was snoring. The moment he was asleep, there was a thunderous clatter. It was probably a good thing that the soldier was so used to gunfire that loud noises didn't wake him often. __**Whrr Tschzz Tschzz Tschzz Tchk**__. (_A/n: admit it: we all made this noise as kids with our own Transformers). _"I don't know how you manage to sleep like this," Hound sighed, crouching next to the human. "You are one kooky little guy, Kevin."_

_Hound lowered himself to the ground and wrapped his arms around his legs. He would wait an hour or two before waking the man, as usual. He smiled to himself, thinking of how many times Kevin had complained that the jeep's headlights were on the fritz, never suspecting that the jeep was actively looking out for him. Sensitive audial receptors suddenly caught a suspiciously familiar sound. Overhead, there was a low droning, steadily growing louder. "Scrap! It's the Nazis!" Hound cursed. Why did the humans have to go around killing each other? He glanced out the barn door and was somewhat nonplussed to see a dogfight taking place between Blitzwing and Jetfire. "We are __**such**__ bad examples." the Autobot grumbled. His optics widened when he caught sight of the bombs dropping from the German planes behind Blitzwing. "Aw, scrap scrap scrap!" There was no time to wake Kevin. Hound threw himself down in a protective shell over the human as the ground shook with the force of a massive explosion._

_Hound didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated that Goddesknyght barely twitched. "What's the matter with you?" he grumbled, "You could get blown to smithereens and you wouldn't even know!" "Shut up, 'm sleeping!" Kevin abruptly replied, turning over and covering his head. The Autobot's jaw fell slack. Did nothing startle this man? Or was he in some half-awake state assuming that the giant robot was a dream? Hound shook his helm and remained where he was, shielding the soldier until all was quiet again. Then, satisfied that the attack was over, he stepped back and transformed into vehicle mode, flashing his headlights on. Kevin sat up with a groan. "I'm gonna rip that wire out, one of these days." Pulling a hand over his face, the man slid into the driver's seat and guided the jeep out of the half-open barn doors. He blinked in surprise when he got outside. The barn was leaning at a strange angle, and there was a smoking crater where the farmhouse had been. "How in the heck did I sleep through that?" he exclaimed._

_"__You sleep through a lot." a voice said flatly. Kevin whipped his head around, but saw no one. The voice was familiar, though. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. "Just a guardian." answered the mellow tone. Goddesknyght shrugged and decided not to ask questions as he continued on towards his destination. But you could never tell him after that day that there were no such things as guardian angels. Even if they were big, annoying, metal angels._

Vivian had gotten bored of staring at the jeep with her great-uncle, and had run back to the house to play dolls with her sisters. Martin stayed in the yard, watching his uncle. He guessed the older man was having some kind of flashback, and said nothing. He was a little surprised at the mischievous smile on the elder's face when he blinked and straightened his back. "Martin, did I ever tell you about the time I went to sleep in a barn and the next day the house was gone?" he said. The man nodded. "You did, Uncle Kevin. It's pretty amazing." Kevin reluctantly stepped away from the Ford GPW and moved to join his nephew. "You know, I had a jeep with me that night that looked just like this one, down to the face on the grill." He sighed. "They don't make 'em like that anymore." Abruptly, Kelsey came running out of the house. "Daddy, Uncle Kevin!" she squeaked, "Aunt Mina says it's lunchtime!" The men smiled. "Okay sweetheart, you go tell your Aunt Mina that we're coming," Kevin tweaked her curls and sent her back inside.

"You coming?" Martin asked. "In a moment," Colonel Goddesknyght murmured. "In a moment." Martin nodded understandingly and crossed the yard to the porch. An old war jeep and an old soldier stood in the late fall afternoon, and one smiled. "It's nice to see you again, Hound." A somewhat gruffer voice answered. "Nice to see you too, Kevin. Whose sparklings?" The old man shook his head with a grin. "The girls? Those are my nephew's. The one who came to talk to you is the middle child. There's two others so far, but you never know with Goddesknyghts." "No, you never do," the Autobot agreed. Kevin leaned on the warm metal for a moment. "What are you doing here?" he asked softly. Hound was silent for a moment. "I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing. It's been a long time, Kev." Kevin patted the wheel well comfortingly. "It has. You know, I was a little worried that you were here for other reasons!"

Hound laughed. "What, Decepticons? Nah, they don't venture out this far. Although, I can't stay long or I might attract the wrong sort of attention." The human pushed himself off of the jeep with a wry snort. "If you didn't want to attract attention, you shouldn't have rolled onto the street with no driver. Even baby Bridget noticed!" The headlights faded on gently, not blindingly as they had done in the past. "I'd better be rollin' out, Kevin," the Autobot said wistfully. Kevin understood. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, alright. I suppose I'll see you around every now and then?" After a pause, Hound replied. "Yeah, I'd like that." Colonel Goddesknyght offered the mechanoid guardian a salute. "Don't be a stranger, Hound." As the deep green four-wheeler backed out of its place, it sent one last retort. "Stranger? Be serious, Goddesknyght! They don't come any stranger than you!"

The old man made his way back to his house and settled into his chair at the table. Vivian and Kelsey propped their chins on their hands and stared at him. "You were talking to a jeep, Uncle Kevin." said Kelsey. "Yes I was." Bright eyes followed his to the window. "Why were you talking to a jeep?" asked Vivian. "Because we're friends." their great-uncle replied. "Oh." that was explanation enough for two little girls with nothing better to do, and they did not question the reply for many years.


	28. Chapter 28

**A gentle good-morning to you all who chance to read my humble anthology! **

**Today's one-shot has been rattling around my brain in unformed pieces for nigh on two months. Only last night did I finally set the pieces together to make what falls below. It takes place directly after the episode "Hurt", when Miko kills Hardshell.**

Belonging

After nearly an hour of frantic searching, they finally located her. Miko sat on the very top of the mesa with her back to Cliffjumper's memorial, her face an angry grimace. Optimus held up a hand, stopping the others. _Do not follow me_, he said with his optics. Arcee and Jack slipped back into the shadows in a quiet show of acquiescence. The Prime's heavy footsteps shook the ground, an unmistakable announcement of his presence. Still Miko glared out at the desert.

"Miko," Optimus spoke after a moment's silence, "What you did today was reckless." The rebuke was gentle and tempered with concern. Far below him, the girl hunched thin shoulders and spoke into crossed arms. "Yeah? What else is new?" A frown flickered over impassive faceplates, and the great warrior slowly lowered himself to the ground beside the young human. "I know, I know," Miko snapped before he had a chance to open his mouth, "I shouldn't have done it, I was in the way, I could have been killed. Big deal."

Something in the words caught Optimus's attention. "Why do you speak as though you did not care what happened to you?" His optics shuttered and opened quickly at the response. "Because I don't." Disheartening, but not altogether unexpected. "I suspected," Optimus admitted, and the strong, sad tone fell heavy on her ears. "You seem to feel as though you must prove something with every incident." "Please, _don't_," Miko begged, a sob danced at the edge of her voice. Optimus Prime shifted and fixed his gaze directly upon the girl, and she could not look away.

"If Bulkhead dies, I'll have no one!" she burst out. Hands rose of their own accord to cover her face, to shield her from the relentless blue optics. They seemed to pierce her very soul, making her feel small and miserable. The girl tried to hide from the Prime's eyes. She did not see the hurt that flashed through them. "Is that truly what you believe?" Optimus asked gravely. Miko bit her lip and nodded. "You don't have to pretend, Optimus. I _know_ I'm useless."

The cobalt helm reared back, blindsided both by the words themselves and the hopeless way in which they were uttered. "Why would you think you were useless?" surprise colored the deep tone even as one massive hand reached for the girl. She allowed herself to be lifted, arms as limp as a doll's. And he held her cradled in his palm like a babe. "Come _on_, Optimus," Miko said bitterly, "Jack carried the Matrix, Raf can understand Cybertronian, all I do is run into danger. I'm a liability:_ look_ at me!"

"I _am_ looking." The Prime had rarely seemed so careworn. Miko lowered her eyes and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Miko, you cannot do the same things your friends do because _you_ are not them, and _they_ will never be you," Optimus raised the girl's head tenderly with the tip of one servo. He gestured to his helm. "Among the Autobots, each one of us plays a different part, just as the parts of our bodies must work together. Some of us may act as the optics, some may be audial receptors."

He flexed his servos and exchanged them for his cannon with a snap and a hum. "Some of us are the servos and the weapons." Wise optics turned down to catch tearful eyes. "But suppose one part believed itself to be less important than another?" The barest suggestion of a smile ghosted across Miko's face as he continued. "Should all my functions perform the same operations?" Mutely, Miko shook her head. "Of course not!" Optimus confirmed. "If my optics did the work of my servos, where would my sense of sight be? If all the parts were optics, where would my sense of hearing be?"

The girl in his hand wiped a palm across her eyes and sniffed. "So what do_ I_ do? If I'm a part of the Autobots, what am _I_?" She leaned against the blunt servos for support, hating herself for sounding so desperate for an answer. Optimus thought carefully before replying. "You are light. Before today, I have never seen you give in to despair: you are hope. Dear one, you are creativity and laughter and courage." The hand rose and the old helm bent and Miko once more was caught in the cerulean stare. "You carry the spark of a warrior and the compassion of a healer. You are _life_!"

"But I'm not a real Autobot! I couldn't even protect Bulkhead!" This time, the girl could not hide her tears. They coursed freely down her cheeks, shaking her. The Prime's face grew very solemn. "You believe I would lie to you?" Miko gasped; she had not realized the meaning of her own repeated denials. "I'm sorry!" she choked. Optimus gently pressed  
his forehead to hers as he whispered, "Daughter, you must never doubt your place among us."

Jack quietly paced the silo floor as Arcee and Bumblebee stood in awkward silence. Occasionally, one would shoot a look either at the med bay or the ceiling. All movement ceased when Optimus Prime finally reappeared, carrying Miko close to his spark. He nodded in response to Bumblebee's questioning whirr. In his hand, Miko's eyelids began to flutter and droop—as will happen at times after one has had a good cry—and she fought to stay awake. "Is she okay?" Raf squeaked nervously from the stairs behind Jack. Arcee turned and smiled at the youngest human. "She'll be alright, Raf."

For several seconds, Optimus said nothing. Then, he bent down and held out his hand. "Boys." They needed no second prompting. Jack and Rafael hoisted themselves up onto his palm quickly. Neither Arcee nor Bumblebee protested, and Ratchet returned from the med bay to find Optimus sitting beside the data kiosk with a contemplative look upon his faceplates. Nestled against his chestplates, all three children curled together with Miko in the center as the other two whispered encouragement and comfort.

Ratchet smiled knowingly and backed out of the room, dragging the other two Autobots with him.


	29. Chapter 29

**It had to happen at some point. Why, I've retold things as Victorian, why should I not attempt the wordsmithing of the Bard? Given the personalities of the characters involved, this could really go just about anywhere in the show. The opening soliloquy was inspired by Edmund's speech in King Lear (but only in a few lines)**

The Tragedy of the Decepticon

Act I, Scene II: A Corridor in the _Nemesis_

[Enter Starscream with a datapad]

_Stars._

Thou, Ambition, art with me yet again; ever

Was I thy slave and foremost of champions.

Wherefore should I stand i' the chains of caste,

And permit petty perfunctories of power to deprive me,

For that I stand some helm and shoulders lack

Of a master forged of devilry? —No honest labor

His cannons claim, he that the Fallen himself could

Scarce hope to compete with, for his blade drank of

Bloodsport when yet I still learned at my Carrier's knee.

Wherefore less than such a mech? Wherefore unsuited

To the mustering of benighted soldiers to

Brazen call of battle? For 'tis resolved in me that

My mettle is of no cheaper quality than his own, though

Of yet, my worth's unknown. Still, all good things in time.

I can be patient. No sparkling have I sired, yet if son I had,

I could wish him a pauper. He that learns to take what Life

Offers twixt the whisper and the knife doth learn how to

keep't, and to keep more. Though Icarus wing'd fell for his pains,

'Tis sure that he did not fall ere gaining some height!

Now then, Megatron, play the suitor to thy Lady Fortune;

Pray she grant thee tokens of her love. Yet for certain, if to

Th' intended goal my message speed, Dame Fortune of a

New favorite son hath need! But wait, wait my spark,

And do not speed the plan, lest all fall to nought.

Iacon, it is said, was not built in a day.

Soft! Someone comes: no more will I say.

[Enter Megatron]

_Meg._

Might of arms, strength of purpose; I have hurled my javelin to the sun,

And the gloaming of her light shows my aim to be true, for power born

Of darkness lies within my grasp, and legions foul at my servo-tips dance

Attendance. That Optimus Prime in such choler departed but lends credence to

What my spark has ever known. I, ever I, by the strength of these hands—aye,

These hands that have torn the sparks from a hundred, nay, a thousand mechs—

Shall conquer whatever world I chance to turn my optic upon until all that

Escapes me is deference due the title long held by an erstwhile brother.

Legitimate Prime, I must have thy Matrix, and 'tis assured I shall!

But how now, my errant Seeker! What's the news with you?

_Stars._

So please your lordship, naught worth the noting.

[hides datapad behind back]

_Meg._

Why so earnestly seek you to conceal that tablet?

_Stars._

'Tis naught, 'tis naught!

_Meg._

By heaven, knave, I'll see that note!

_Stars._

I pray you, note it not, my lord!

_Meg._

No? What corrosive correspondence can this be that

Merits thy frank disobedience? Why, if naught it be, then

Naught hast thou to fear!

[an aside]

I like this not. Some mischief I suspect in him, and

Hasten not to play his game. For assured it is that

He wishes me to read this note he so zealously conceals.

Yet I'll warrant that treachery was ever a game best played by two!

[to Starscream]

Give me that letter, sirrah!

[Starscream makes a show of reluctantly handing it over]

_Stars._

My lord, I beseech thee, hold off thy ire, though well I merit it.

I but wished to spare thee from waste of time, for 'tis known

That tongues will wag and who can say what truth be in them?

Yet hold I hope that, for sake of my comrade, this missive serves

As but a test of my loyalty.

[Megatron reads aloud]

_Meg._

This reverence done in rank subservience to strength of arms

Doth weary the spark and cast a shade upon its brightness

In the best of times. In the worst it bows us down 'neath

chains, not of iron but of fear—no vaunting trait, I deem!

Wherefore submit to follow a baser mech? Slave born

And slave yet, for no alchemist there is who might

Transform this base metal to gold. I begin to find at last

Purpose and use for a processor long kept idle by an

Ignorant king. Come to me, then we may speak at greater

Length of this matter; should your hand fall to aid mine,

Half of our master's glory falls to thee and thou shalt

Live in the gratitude of thy comrade,

SHOCKWAVE.

Treason? I scarce can think he had a hand to pen this—nay,

Not Shockwave, chief scientist of my forces? I' faith, I cannot

Believe it. Mutiny no cold and careless scoundrel is, but a mech

Of hot temper, driven ever to rashness. And yet—slave born, and

Slave yet—processor long kept idle by an ignorant king—and yet

The glyph is formed very like to Shockwave's hand. How came

You by this letter, say.

_Stars._

My lord, upon my doorstep it was thrown, I did not see a sender.

_Meg._

[an aside]

O ho! Mark that, if you will. He would fain to play the

Trickster upon me! Never Amalgamous Prime wert thou,

O Starscream. And now to bait this trap of mine, no

Common wording may I use. I'll play upon his natur'l

Sense of arrogance til, much inflamed, it consume him.

[to Starscream]

If thou woudst prove thy loyalty to me, fetch forth the fatal

Mech. I would have words with this writer of letters. Tell him

Not of the note thou hast shown me, but say some urgent

Need have I of him. Shockwave against me? Time is fair

Out of joint!

[exit Megatron]

_Stars._

And see how the great sparkling will playact! Polities were

Not meant for thee, Megatron of Kaon! Your spark lies in

Battle, with the blood of thy foes rank and clotted 'pon thy

Servos.

[enter Shockwave]

Ha! Fortune, thou hast smiled again! For here my

Comrade comes—pat—as I had need of him! Now

Stride I back and forth, and paint the melancholic

'Pon these faceplates. Hum! Tut-tut!

_Shock._

I know not what this portends, that one altogether

Taken with the foppery of ambition might seem so

Wholly out of countenance. Some falling out, I'll

Wager, had he with our master. Far from a first

would such a suggestion be! Now then, thou

Popinjay, what calamitous contemplation furrows

Thy brow?

_Stars._

Why, I think upon the spheres and what unhappy

Influence they may hold upon a mech. Surely you

Have heard it said that the order of the sky upon the

Occasion of one's birth will determine his path in life?

_Shock._

Do you fill your helm with babyish nonsense, as is your way. For myself, I hold to no mawkish superstition.

_Stars._

Come come! When saw you our master last?

[an aside]

Now might I do it. Now might I plant a seed

Of mistrust within his imagination, arid though

It be! For all my words are lack of weight without

That actions shall follow!

[to Shockwave]

Seemed he out of countenance at all? Was his temper good?

_Shock._

Aye, as in the best it can be. Why ask you such things?

Hast broken with him again?

_Stars._

Nay, nay gentle Shockwave! 'Tis not for myself that

I ask this of you. Only think, think to thyself if there

Be any among our cause that has cause to wish harm

Upon thee. Some villain, some low-caste scoundrel

Perhaps who may bear false tales to Megatron.

_Shock._

Your words twist as serpents! Come, tell me what

Has happened? Who has done me wrong?

_Stars._

I could wish to tell you, heartily I could. Yet I

Am loth to spread words I cannot confirm! Only

Know that our master stirs in anxious mood, and

Murmurs against thee in his wanderings. Stay,

I charge thee, out of his sight but for a time.

And if thou wouldst leave thy laboratory, I pray

Thee go armed!

_Shock._

What? Armed!

_Stars._

Aye, armed! Get you hence, I pray! I hear steps upon the floor. Away,

Shockwave, away! I'll swear I saw thee not.

_Shock._

Dearest charity or hellish lie, I cannot ascertain,

Yet I'll thank thee for it and bid thee adieu.

[exit Shockwave]

_Stars._

And so the game falls to three! A master that

Would fain believe himself cunning. And a comrade

So lack of fancy that my glib imaginings may

Attach themselves to his processor as easily as

A Scraplet fastens on its prey. All proceeds

Smoothly—It is the mischief in me!

Spin the web in corner high:

That's how the spider caught the fly!


	30. Chapter 30

**So I have two little one-shots today instead of one big one. For the first one, I found myself wondering: if Bumblebee is the youngest-ish Autobot in Transformers: Prime, and if he came out of the Well when the War was going on/beginning, who took care of him? I kind of supposed that the whole team pitched in a little here and there, and then I figured that in a group like that, something like the following was bound to happen eventually.**

**Apologies in advance to country singer Rodney Atkins for borrowing the premise of his song.**

* * *

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

The battles were beginning to take their toll on the Autobot forces. At first it was barely noticeable: a little less energon in the rations, a guard or two fewer in the brigs. After a while it became more pronounced until at last nearly every able-framed mech or femme was out on the battlefield. This left no one behind to watch over Bumblebee. Those in command had experimented once with leaving the sparkling on his own for a day. It was a horrible experience for all and the child sulked for two weeks: Ratchet was furious! Giving up, the slightly inexperienced Prime suggested that Bumblebee's care fall to whoever happened to be on base at the moment. For a time, this worked out well. They didn't realize what the drawbacks might be until it was nearly too late.

A meeting had been called in the war room to plan a strategic attack on the Decepticons. As Bumblebee's designated caretaker of the day was Ironhide, and Ironhide had been summoned to the meeting, the little yellow mech came along too. Jazz set up a stack of empty crates in a corner for the sparkling to play blocks with while the adults discussed important matters. The tiny fellow trilled happily and set to work building a castle. The clatter was only a minor distraction to the elder Autobots, and they resumed their plans quietly. "If Ironhide leads a small strike team _here_, behind the lines," Optimus muttered, tapping the holographic map, "then Commander Magnus can bring in the Wreckers _here _to create a diversion while—Jazz, pay attention please." The smaller mech shrugged with a guilty grin. "Sorry, boss! It's just that the kid-" "I'm sure he's fine," Ironhide said brusquely. "No, but the kid is climbin'-" Jazz attempted to warn them, but was interrupted by a thundering crash.

The Autobots whirled around to see a dazed Bumblebee lying in the wreckage of his castle. All was quiet for a moment, and suddenly the sparkling let loose a mighty, "_Scwap!_" You might have heard a pin drop in the seconds after the child uttered his unfortunate exclamation. "_Bumblebee!_" Optimus cried, shocked, "Where did you learn to talk like _that_?!" Tiny servos grabbed hold of little pedes and the little one rocked himself into a sitting position. He beamed innocently up at his horrified guardians. "I been watchin' you guys!" he lisped adorably, "Cool, huh? Someday, I'mma be just like you!" Every faceplate seemed to drain of color slightly. "Oh...sc-" Optimus kicked Jazz under the table and the tactician quickly changed his tune. "Sc-sk-skittles! Yeah...skittles." Bumblebee's helm tilted to the side. "What's a skiddle, Unca Jazz?" Jazz grinned nervously. Having only spit out the first word that came to mind, he rambled for a moment, making up an answer. "It's...ummm...a rainbow...drop?"

"Wainbow dwops?" Round optics shone with interest. "I like wainbows," he decided, and went back to building his castle, humming nonsensical tunes about "skittles". Optimus Prime shot his fellow mechs a warning look. "Life just got a lot more complicated, didn't it?" sighed Ironhide.

_He said I've been watching you dad, ain't that cool__I'm your buckaroo, I wanna be like you__And eat all my food and grow as tall as you are__We like fixing things and holding mama's hand__Yeah we're just alike, hey ain't we dad__I wanna do everything you do__So I've been watching you—Rodney Atkins, "Watching You"_

* * *

**This one is set right at the end of "Speed Metal". Did that end scene with the Autobots feel a little like The Lion King to anyone else? To me it really felt like that scene where Mufasa comes in and gives the hyenas an epic smackdown in the Elephant Graveyard. I remember the first time I watched the episode, I was squirming probably more than Jack would have been at the end, because I knew they were busted, but I'd been cheering them on when they were racing. (Hence, vicariously busted. Is that weird? That might be weird.)**

**Anyway, there's this.**

* * *

Obiurgare

Bumblebee shuffled slowly out of the room, doorwings drooping. However the scolding had gone, he looked utterly downcast. Below him, leaning on the wall, Jack Darby shuffled from foot to foot nervously. "What happened?" he hissed. From inside the room, the terrifying baritone echoed. "Jackson, come here." Scout and human alike traded sympathetic shudders. Before he had the presence of mind to stop it, an audio clip burst from Bumblebee's vocoder. "_Simba, good luck." _It was the _last _thing Jack needed to hear. He shot the 'Bot an irritated look, then turned towards the room, taking a deep breath.

He slipped into the chamber and the door slid shut behind him. Even though he stood perfectly still, Jack could feel his insides squirming guiltily under the stoic gaze of a _very _unhappy Prime. The words tumbled out in a rush. "You don't have to say it. I had no business racing Vince, and I had no right to drag the Autobots into it." The young human could not even bring himself to look at the Autobot leader's face. "I risked blowing your cover to impress a girl, and worse, I put Bumblebee in danger." Jack's hands trembled in a combination of shame and worry.

_"__And,_" Optimus finally spoke, strong and stern, "You asked your friends to lie for you. They did, Jack, but the responsibility for Raf and Miko's lie rests on _your _shoulders." With every fibre of his being, Jack wanted to bolt. To disappear down the winding corridors and hide himself forever. Guilty eyes stole a glance up at the impassive Prime. "I know," the boy croaked, "I'm sorry. I know I broke the rules, I know it was irresponsible and-and-and _stupid_!" Jack hung his head. He had nothing more to say. There were no excuses to be made, no pleas for forgiveness, just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing. "_I'm so sorry_," he whispered miserably, knowing it wasn't enough. Then, almost too quietly to hear, "I know what I did was wrong, and that I acted more like a Decepticon than an Autobot, and-" he trailed off. "I don't blame you if you hate me now," the meek declaration hung in the still air.

The silence that followed was stifling, and the urge to run grew stronger. Suddenly, Optimus sighed. "Jack, if I hated you, would I have corrected you?" Speechless, Jack only hunched his shoulders and bowed his head. Optimus repeated the question calmly. "Would I reprimand you if I did not care?" The small figure before him could manage no more than a tiny, whispered, "no?" The Prime nodded. "As you seem to understand, for the most part, the gravity of the situation, I see no reason to revisit the incident. I will say this, however: of the three of you—our human allies—you are the eldest. You have a duty and a responsibility to set the standard of behavior for those younger than you. In the past, you have proved yourself capable of leading them; what sort of message will they internalize if you ask them to do something they know is wrong?"

Jack flinched. "It won't happen again," he whispered. "No, it will not." Optimus agreed severely. "As it stands now, when you come to Outpost Omega, you and Bumblebee are both confined to base for the next two weeks. Is that understood?" The young man blinked, surprised. "Bumblebee?" But it was _my_ fault! Why is _he _being punished?" Coolly, the titanic warrior raised an eyebrow. "That is not my story to tell. You may ask him yourself, tomorrow, when you are under Ratchet's supervision." He tilted his helm and regarded the human gravely. "Is that understood?" he asked again. "Yes sir," Jack barely squeaked. Optimus nodded. "Good. Arcee is waiting for you: if I am not mistaken, your mother will be home shortly, and it would not do for her to find you missing." It was clearly a dismissal, however kindly it was said.

Jack fought the urge to scuff his feet like a child as he headed for the door. Almost as an afterthought, the Prime remarked, "Will you send Bulkhead here, Jack? I need to speak to him as well." Jack nodded respectfully and trudged out into the hallway where Miko, Raf, and Bulkhead still waited. "How'd it go?" the girl hissed. "Bulkhead, he wants to talk to you," the boy muttered by way of reply. Inside the room, Optimus sighed and ran one giant hand over the back of his neck for a moment. There were some days, he reflected, when being a Prime seemed to mean being everyone's parent rather than being a political leader. Still, if one-on-one talks were what kept further incidents from taking place, then he would continue to utilize them. He could not help but feel a twinge of pity for the humans. His Autobots had nearly all experienced one of his scoldings before, but the children were wholly unused to it! (He very briefly wondered if Miko was used to _any _kind of scolding, given her tendency to run wild).

Optimus hoped he wouldn't have to do something like this more than once, that this incident would be lesson enough. He looked up as Bulkhead cautiously poked his helm around the door. "Boss? You wanted to talk to me?" the big green Wrecker spoke hesitantly. The Prime motioned him in and the door was shut. It would be a very long time before anyone in Outpost Omega forgot the talks. At school the next day, Vince tried to goad Jack into at least an argument over the race, but he was pointedly ignored. Cries of coward did nothing to move him. When the schoolbell rang, Jack swung himself onto his motorcycle and sped away without a word. The next two weeks passed slowly, but not tortuously. Sometimes, Arcee came to help Bumblebee and Jack sort through Ratchet's medical supplies as a sign of camaraderie...until Ratchet caught her and usually shoved her out of the room shouting something along the lines of, "This is a _punishment, _not a _quilting party_!" And Bumblebee would catch Jack's eye and hold miniature scanners to his optics like googly glasses, and _nothing _would get done for the next two hours. Sometimes, Optimus watched from the corner of the room to ensure that they didn't get into _too _much mischief, but for the most part they were left to Ratchet's supervision.

Jack did not go racing again, and he did not ever ask Miko and Raf to lie for him again.

**Yeah...basically what I did here was I took every time I got in trouble as a kid, took all those feels, and threw them into Jack's head. Sorry, Jack. Maybe I was just a really sensitive kid, but I **_**hated **_**getting in trouble when I was little. It wasn't so much that I'd been caught (although sometimes there was that, too), it was usually more that I hadn't realized that I'd been doing something wrong and I was mad at myself.**


	31. Chapter 31

**I'm baaaaa-aaaack! (And they all run and hide). Aw, come back! Lol, cramming for examming makes Aspen crazy...**

**Well back on subject, it was requested by one or two folk that I revisit Hot Shot in Ireland. (Also, in answer to Neon's request, the Soundwave in this story may have to suffice because I have ****_no idea _****how he would've gotten out of the Shadow Zone with no access to Bridges. Oh, and in answer to your question: a quilting party was something they used to do in the old days where a bunch of people would get together and each person would sew a square of the quilt. It was a social gathering, and there was usually food and music.)**

An Unexpected Meeting

(Or, Soundwave and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)

Soundwave was not having a good day. To begin with, some of the Insecticons and drones had gotten into a shootout in the corridors for the third time that week. Following the aftermath of that brouhaha, Soundwave had been trapped in an out-of-service turbolift listening to Starscream complain about Shockwave for the better part of three hours. When Megatron _finally _remembered that they were down there and sent someone to rescue them, the silent mech had bolted from the confines of the dark tunnel like a bat out of hell and promptly Bridged himself and his two deployers off of the _Nemesis_. Surely after an experience like that, a mech deserved a little solitude! He'd chosen the location at random and ended up somewhere over Europe.

Partway over a little green island, Ravage apparently decided that flight was boring and ejected himself from his holding chamber, tumbling into a mass of trees below. Some very inventive vocabulary came to Soundwave's processor, but never passed his lips. The MQ9-Reaper tilted into a gentle dive and crashed through the canopy in an utter lack of silence. No sooner had he landed than Laserbeak decided that _now _was the _perfect _time to go on a solo flight! The Decepticon spy lay winded on his back in high dudgeon. After a moment, he sat up and shook out his limbs. His wing twinged uncomfortably. Ever since losing and replacing the wing in the later days of the War, colder climates made some of the energon lines constrict. The slender mech pushed himself off the leafy ground and looked about for any sign of Ravage or Laserbeak. What had gotten into them? They were normally perfect models of good behavior! Then again, three hours with Starscream was enough to drive anyone mad.

In a foul mood, the ex-gladiator stalked through the forest, glaring out of his visor at a few woodland creatures with very bad timing. For example, the sparrow that had just flown smack into the side of his helm. Brushing the dazed bird aside, Soundwave turned and ducked under a natural archway of trees. Ravage couldn't have gotten _that _far, could he? Silence fell on the wood as the afternoon sun turned the trees to gold. Soundwave's internal comm system appeared to be malfunctioning: he had no way to call his deployers back. This was intolerable! Suddenly— "Is this your cat?" an irritated little voice asked. Soundwave whirled about, blaster drawn. A small mech—still a youngling, really—stood before him with what was meant to be a fearsome scowl on his round faceplate. A mortified Ravage hung limply from his grip, front paws dangling off the ground. "I _said_, is this your cat?" the little one repeated.

Noiselessly, Soundwave reached for the wayward cassette. "Well, I guess that's your owner. Right so, kitty?" the youngling piped, setting Ravage down and patting his head. There was something familiar about the little fellow, but Soundwave couldn't quite place it. It certainly was odd running across a Cybertronian as young as this in the middle of a human island. The blue and yellow mech crossed his arms and scowled again. "What are you doing in _our _forest?" he tried to sound stern and impressive, but in reality he only sounded adorable. "Your cat nearly put the heart crossway in me, jumping out like that! If he'd landed in Old Man Butler's garden, he'd have gave out to me for sure!" Silently, Soundwave stepped closer, examining the strange being. A question scrolled across his visor. "Ah! Did I forget to introduce myself? I'm always doin' that!" the youngling chuckled, pulling a pair of goggles down over his optics.

"Let's start over then. Dia duit, I'm Hot Shot. And yourself?" The spy said nothing. Hot Shot frowned. "What I said was, I'm Hot Shot. And yourself?" Still nothing. The young Autobot leaned back. "Maybe you _can't _talk. Is that it? Or maybe you're just not the full shilling. You're not touched in the helm, are you?" Long servos reached out and pinched the youngling's lips together, muffling his speech. With the other hand, Soundwave massaged his throbbing temples. Could he not go somewhere completely quiet for one day? After three seconds of blessed silence, he let go and stepped back a pace. Then Hot Shot noticed his faction symbol and his optics widened. "Oh...you're one of _those_. What're _you_ doing here?" the friendly tone was gone. "You probably came to start a fight with Autobots or steal energon, didn't you? Well you can go right back where you came from, because we haven't got either here! Go on, leg it!"

He made a shooing motion. "If Uncle McKenna sees you, he'll have the guards down on ya and where'll you be then?" Laserbeak chose that moment to loop lazily through the air with a contented static burst before easily re-attaching himself to Soundwave's chestplates. Hot Shot bent down and patted Ravage on the head once more. "I'm leavin', Mr. Decepticon," he announced firmly. "You can look at our forest if you want, but you'd better not start anything!" As the small Cybertronian slipped away into the fading light, it finally came to Soundwave where he had seen the youngling before. It had been on Cybertron, when he'd lost his wing and been trapped on the battlefield. A blue and yellow sparkling had risked his life to drag him to shelter, just because he was tired of seeing so much death. Idly, Soundwave wondered if he ought to repay the favor someday.

Ah well, there was time enough to think about such things later. For now, he had to get back to the _Nemesis_, and hope the Decepticons hadn't managed to blow themselves to kingdom come in his absence.


	32. Chapter 32

**My sincerest apologies in advance to the renowned Mr. Tolkien, because this is pretty much a word-for-word parody. I'm just playing with words here.**

A Story about Earth.

In a house on the ground there lived a human. Not a dirty, primitive, squishy house, filled with organic pets and a clinging smell, nor yet a cold, metal modern house, all technology and no spark: it was a human house, and that means comfort.

It had a little door made from a piece of a tree and painted white, with a little brass sphere on one side used for opening and closing it. The door opened onto a narrow hall: a very comfortable hall that smelled of cinnamon with paneled walls and carpeted floors and furniture that was simple but comfortable. There were three coatracks in the hallway—the human was fond of visitors. The hall turned twice, and little rooms opened up on either side of it. No going upstairs for the human: bedrooms, bathrooms, pantries (two of these), wardrobes (well, really there was only one closet in one room that was devoted to clothes. The other three held a great many odds and ends of no discernible use), kitchen, dining-room, all were on the same floor, and indeed in the same passageway. The best rooms were on the left side (going in) for these had windows that faced a field that had been cultivated into one great sloping garden of flowers, and from which you could not see the city rising all round.

This human was not a particularly well-to-do human, and his name was Witwicky. The Witwickys had lived in the neighborhood for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because some of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Witwicky would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Witwicky had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbors' respect, but he gained—well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

The Carrier of this particular human—what is a human? I suppose humans need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. The are (or were) a little people, about ankle-high, and smaller than the minicons. Humans are organic. There is little or no magic or camouflage about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like Predacons which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be more easily influenced by the weather; they dress in bright colors (which they change often); and wear coverings on their pedes because their own frame is not strong enough to protect them on its own, and have soft stuff like fine wires on top of their helms which they call hair. They have long clever servos, good-natured faceplates, and laugh sweet bell-like laughs (especially after meals, which they have often if they can get them). Now you know enough to go on with.

As I was saying, the carrier of this particular human—of Spike Witwicky, that is—was the famous Claire Vox, one of the three remarkable children of the Old Vox, head of the humans who used their voices to make entertaining stories. It was often said (among our own folk) that long ago one of the Vox ancestors must have taken a Pretender sparkmate. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely humanlike about them, and once in a while members of the Vox clan would go and have adventures. They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Vox were not as respectable as the Witwickys, though they were undoubtedly richer.

Not that Claire Vox ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. William Witwicky. William, that was Spike's sire, built the coziest little human house for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found throughout the local human habitats, and there they remained to the end of their days (which came regrettably too soon, when Spike was quite young indeed). Still, it is probable that Spike, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable sire, got something a bit unusual in his make-up from the Vox side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Spike Witwicky was nearly grown up, being about twenty years old or so, and living in the beautiful human house built by his sire, which I have just described for you, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the Earth, when there was less noise and more green, and the humans were still numerous and prosperous, and Spike Witwicky was standing at his door after breakfast airing the smoke from the hallway—from a little accident in the kitchen—Optimus Prime came by. Optimus Prime! If you have heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way for ages and ages, not since his friend Old Sparkplug had died, in fact, and the humans had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over the country and across the sea on businesses of his own since they were all small human-boys and human-girls.

**I don't know why I did this. I thought it was amusing. **


	33. Chapter 33

**So, I found out that in Transformers 4 (which I still can't believe they're actually making), no one's seen or heard from the Cybertronians for about four years. (Didn't Dark of the Moon come out in 2010?) The government has these signs up everywhere that say things like, "Remember Chicago: Report Alien Activity" and other such propaganda. (That...does not bode well...)**

**Most of the cast will be different from the last three, which made me think: where did the rest of them go?**

**This is my attempt to answer that question prior to the movie's debut, building on the previous one-shots set in this universe.**

**One thing I ought to note: in this 'verse, I'm operating off of the end of the ****_novel_**** Dark of the Moon, not the movie. Instead of Optimus killing Megatron, Megatron surrendered and formed a truce with his brother, taking anyone who wanted to go with him back to Cybertron to begin restoring it.**

Auxilium, Exilio

_"__Get up!"_ the voice hissed urgently. Will groaned and rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes. "_Piyep_, wake up!" someone was shaking him by the shoulder. The soldier opened one bleary eye and grimaced, half-blinded by the blue glow coming from Sam's eyes—dim though it was. "What's the matter, _Ats'ka_?" he grumbled, half in English and half in Cybertronian. The younger man leaned over Will and began shaking Sarah awake. "We have to go, now!" he whispered, "The White House is holding the Autobots responsible for the Chicago casualties, and they're blaming NEST for faking Optimus's death. Technically, we're _all _under arrest." With a jolt, all remaining sleep fled the Lennoxes and they kicked off the thin blanket. Outside the small room, they could hear quiet rushes of movement. Will threw on his boots and strapped his gun belt to his waist. No sense being unprepared, after all.

"It'sa? T'o't?" a sleepy voice mumbled. From her cot in the corner, Annabelle sat up with a yawn, clutching a shapeless black rag doll to her chest. She'd named it Ironhide. Sarah scooped the five-year-old into her arms and balanced her on her hip. "Ssh, quiet, Annie. We need to be extra sneaky right now, okay?" Luckily, the Lennox family did not need much time to pack. They were always prepared to move out to somewhere new, and lived out of suitcases, even on Diego Garcia. Optimus Prime stood in the center of the hangar, arm newly reattached, stoically directing soldiers every which way. The silent communication between humans that so often unnerved their Autobot allies proved to be an asset as hardly a word was spoken between the shifting masses. In hushed tones, Sam explained to Will and Sarah that most of the base's children—human and Cybertronian alike—had already been evacuated with Mirage and Ratchet, leaving only Annabelle, a medic's son, and one of the ex-Decepticon hatchlings that had wriggled away from his caretakers.

Leaving his wife and daughter with Witwicky for the moment, Will jogged across the hangar to halt at Optimus's pedes. "How long do we have?" he asked grimly. The weary Prime shook his helm sadly. "Three hours at best. The heavy equipment has already been moved, as has most of NEST. Only one hundred humans remain on the island." His tone made it quite clear that he would have preferred to evacuate _all _the humans first, and equipment second. The remaining Autobots transformed and as many humans as could fit slipped into their interiors. Optimus sent them on their way with a motion of his hand. "Kalat'sa?" Annabelle asked timidly, "Are bad guys coming?" After a thoughtful pause, he answered, "Perhaps not so much bad as misguided, little one. But they pose a danger to our family, so we must move on." Satisfied with this, the little girl allowed herself to be escorted to a waiting Bumblebee, with Sam and Carly already inside. Sarah kissed her husband softly and hurried to join her daughter. As the last twenty stragglers made their way to the wide doors of the hangar, Will turned to look up at the Autobot leader. "Are we running?" he demanded suddenly. When Optimus did not reply right away, the soldier gritted his teeth.

"I joined the army to protect this country, sir. It doesn't feel right, sneaking out in the darkness like a thief." his tone was bitter, charged with anger and betrayal and loss. Loss most of all. "Ironhide wouldn't have run." he muttered. "Yes he would have." the answer was brief and unexpected. For a moment, Lennox bristled at the suggestion, but the Prime continued, interrupting his ire. "He would have snatched you and Sarah and the child and driven for parts unknown before you'd even realized what had happened. You were his friend, William." The Lt. Colonel's jaw tightened, and he merely nodded as Bumblebee drove past them, carrying his family to safety. The base echoed eerily as the last Cybertronian on Diego Garcia, aside from Optimus, strode into the hangar. Barricade stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, with "Spike" Zimmerman perched on his shoulder. "Prime," he said gruffly, "The first three groups made it through safely. Ratchet says the warp manipulator points will only hold together for three more jumps."

"Understood." Optimus acknowledged and transformed. "Lt. Colonel, go with Barricade and Zimmerman in one of the next two groups. I will act as rearguard." Outside, at the edge of the beach, two bands of twenty humans and several Transformers waited on the sand for a massive green portal to open in front of them. "Northern Hemisphere, bearing 51.1788° North, 1.8262° West," Ratchet's voice crackled over a speaker. As soon as the soldiers and Autobots were through, the vortex collapsed with a soft hiss. When it opened again with a groan, the announcement was made, "Southern Hemisphere, bearing 3.1600° South, 60.0300° West." Barricade set Zimmerman down on the beach and transformed. "Let's go, humans," he whispered harshly. The evacuees drove through in a long convoy and the vortex snapped shut once more. Lennox was not with them. He and Epps stood on the sand, waiting for Optimus. When the mighty Autobot stepped out into the graying of the dawn, he raised an eyebrow at them incredulously. "Always the two of you," he sighed. "Did I not tell you to go with the others?"

Epps crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one foot. "Nobody gets left behind, sir," he said calmly. Optimus gave up arguing with the pair. When Will and Robert ganged up on a 'Bot, there was usually no winning anyhow. With a shifting and groaning of gears, he transformed into his vehicle mode: a blue and red Peterbilt 379. "Let's go, gentlemen," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Both soldiers hoisted themselves into the cab and quietly buckled up. Over the cheap speaker, Ratchet sent one last set of coordinates. "Northern Hemisphere, 39.0000° North, 117.0000° West." "That's where they sent our families," Epps whispered to Lennox. The Prime sped through the portal seconds before it collapsed behind him, leaving no trace upon the island of Diego Garcia.

Driving through a tunnel of green and white light, all was silent for a time. Then, Robert asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "So what happens now, T'o't?" Something like a sigh emanated from the radio. "We keep a low profile, out of sight of both the populace and their governments. We will keep watch over humanity from the shadows, even more so than we have before." Will leaned back against the seat. "There is a precedent for this, you know," he remarked. Optimus's tone was curious. "How so?" The human closed his eyes, remembering. "Some time ago, in 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. As far as I know, they're still wandering around out there like modern day Robin Hoods. Folks call them the 'A-Team'." The tunnel—which Ratchet had taken to calling a "Ground Bridge"—ended in a dusty red desert.

Will leaned out of the window. "Is this Nevada?" he asked, startled. "Indeed. There are caves in the mesas our people can shelter in until better hiding places can be found for you all," Optimus explained. Robert blew out a long breath. "So much for NEST." As the semi turned onto a long-disused road, the Autobot informed them that the members of the Autobot/Human alliance would have to take false identities and blend in with the local population, as their comrades who had been scattered across the globe were doing. "This will not be easy for any of us," the deep voice was understanding, "Perhaps one day, we shall return. Some new threat may arise that negates hiding as an option. Until then—" "—we're in exile," William finished morosely, "In Jasper, Nevada." He glared out the window as great stone bluffs rose before them. "At least we don't have to worry about 'Cons," Epps reminded him. They rode in silence for a few minutes more. Then Optimus spoke. "If a day comes when your government is willing to work with the Autobots again, I will not begrudge them. What I will _not _do, however, is send the members of NEST back to them."

He cut off the men's surprised protests decisively. "I cannot trust them my children anymore. You _know _what has a tendency to happen when your younger brother is left alone with political agents." The soldiers winced, remembering more than one occasion where they'd had to rescue Sam from overly ambitious politicians who saw the Allspark-infused human as a weapon. The truck pulled to a stop far into a maze of canyons at the mouth of a cave. Sam and Bumblebee were waiting outside. "I am going to contact the others," Optimus announced as he transformed, "Stay together and do not leave the cave." With a quick chorus of "Aahroh, T'o't," the three men slipped into the dark recesses of the cavern to check on their families. In the gloom, Epps could barely make out his third youngest, Sheleeka, swinging from Mirage's outstretched servos. "Hey Dad!" she called out, "Are we outlaws now?" Her brother and sisters crowded around the man in a messy group hug as he tried to come up with an answer.

Finally, he gave up. "Yeah, we're outlaws, I guess. Like Robin Hood." Still clutching her Ironhide doll, Annabelle marched up to Bumblebee. "You're Friar Tuck!" she announced happily. Suddenly all the children in the cave were giving themselves the names of the various Merry Men, which kept them occupied until Optimus returned, at which point they all wanted "Kalat'sa" to tell them a story. Will wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and sighed. "How long do we stay out of sight?" she murmured in his ear. His hold tightened. "As long as it takes."

**End?**


	34. Chapter 34

**Okay, I have a little confession to make: this one was requested of me a full month ago by one of my sisters (henceforth to be referred to in my writings as Beri). I kept saying, "Yeah, I'll work on it, yeah I'll work on it", but the truth is that I can't write these things if I don't already have to words in my mind. I don't know why, but that's how my brain works. I'll feel some words hopping around, sit down with a keyboard/pen and paper, and before I know it I've got a fragment of a story that I can expand. **

**It took me a ****_whole month _****to get the inspiration to write this the way I wanted to! (shameface)**

**Granted, I was also working on two other stories at the time and doing a heck of a lot of Christmas shopping (#largefamilythings?).**

**Well anyway, here it is, and you can thank Beri for whatever madness ensues. I sort of took Bayverse, G1-verse, and Aligned Continuity and threw them all together for an outing. In an AU. Re-enacting the same stories I re-enacted with my siblings for years and years.**

* * *

Wolf's Head

The city was dark upon approach, and that should have been his first warning. The Autobot maneuvered the cobbled-together craft through the towering spires of the temporary Capitol in Tarn and landed it on the first open platform he saw. The sunlight that filtered through lingering clouds of smoke and ash twinkled dully on armor that had been white, once upon a time. A good decontamination might have rendered him blinding. Jazz leaned out of the cockpit and let out a low whistle. "Old friend, somehow I don't think you had this in mind when you said _check in with the folks back home_." He hopped nimbly to the ground and shaded his visor, peering into the haze. "The War migrated years ago," he muttered, "So why does this place feel so dangerous?" Just to be on the safe side, he activated his sonic weapons and slid quietly into the shadows.

Posters began to catch his optic band, propaganda. **Sentinel Prime is your friend!** said one, **Don't forget your taxes!** said another. Still a third loudly proclaimed, **Don't be a Decepticon! Taxes help the war effort!** Jazz was confused. Since when did Cybertron have taxes? And what war effort did they mean? Optimus and his forces hadn't received so much as a cube of energon from home. That was part of why Jazz had been sent back. The Autobot tore one poster from a crumbling wall and examined it. "I call shenanigans! Or, as Prowl would say, _The game's afoot!_" he muttered, crumpling the holoprojector and tossing it to the ground. Instantly, a siren began to blare and a red beam shone from the ruined propaganda piece to scan Jazz. "Aww, Jazz ya idiot, what've you done now," he gulped, edging away.

With a roar of engines, seven shapes emerged from the dirty alleys, wearing the insignia of the Elite Guard. "Citizen! You are under arrest!" barked one. Jazz crossed his arms over his chestplates and smiled disarmingly. "On what charges?" A second, burlier mech scowled and stepped close in an attempt to intimidate him. "Breaking curfew and vandalism of government property." Jazz sized him up with a brief flick of his helm, and kept his posture loose and relaxed as he spoke. "Obviously there's been some kind of mistake. I'm Lieutenant Jazz, Optimus Prime's right-hand guy! I, for one, call monkey business back at Elite Guard HQ. Come on, we've all been there. I guess Sentinel can be a little scatterbrained sometimes, am I right?"

By the looks on their faceplates, you'd have thought Jazz had just told them there was no such thing as Primus. He quickly found himself cuffed and being dragged toward a wide golden hall. Curiously, despite the disrepair of the rest of Tarn, this building was a testament to opulence. Priceless artifacts from many worlds lined the walls in display cases, and genuine organic cloth-which must have cost a fortune to import-covered the windows and floors. Seated on what could only have been a throne was a grave-looking old mech with red and purple armor. "What is the meaning of this?" the grand and quavery voice asked sharply, "Release the lieutenant immediately!"

Awkwardly, the bulky guard tried to bring up curfew and the vandalized poster. "He's been offworld for ten years!" Lord Protector Sentinel Prime scolded, "How could he possibly know what changes have been made to the laws?" Timidly, a blue Elite who looked like he was barely old enough to hold a lance raised his hand. "But Prime, I thought you said ignorance was no excuse?" He was quickly shushed, which Jazz noted and filed away in his memory for later. "Lieutenant, I apologize for my guards' treatment of you. We have had some problems with criminal activity of late, and have had to crack down on things a little." Something was off in his statement. It was just a little too flippant for Jazz.

Brushing himself off, the former cultural-specialist squared his shoulders. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it, Sentinel." "Sentinel _Prime_," the elder corrected, losing a bit of his kindly tone. Jazz continued as if he hadn't heard. "When Optimus gets back, I'm sure that'll be one of the first things he addresses. Now, if you don't mind, I was wondering about those taxes." Slumping back against the throne, color seemed to drain from Sentinel's faceplate. "Optimus is returning to Cybertron?" he gasped, "But-but the War!" Beneath his visor, Jazz's optics narrowed. "It is the Meeting of the Ways, Sentinel. There will be no War for the duration of the holiday. Optimus and Megatron are taking counsel together as they once did..." A dark thought suddenly struck him, and it took great effort to keep suspicion from filling his voice. "...as they once did _before_ you were named their guardian."

Sentinel seemed to hear the silent accusation and his posture grew rigid. "Well," he said after a long silence, "that is an..._inconvenience_. Guards." Jazz's arms were wrenched behind him and cuffed once more. "We don't need news of this getting out. Why, it might interfere with the tax collection!" Sentinel calmly waved one hand, and Jazz was dragged away. From a portrait behind the throne, painted by the giant organics of Pzz-azz (**a/n: actual planet in the comics, didn't make that up**), the cold optics of Prima stared out at the regent of Cybertron. "Oh don't look at me like that," he snapped, "You and your line were never going to lead our race to greatness. You should _bless_ me for killing you when I did: this way you never had to see the_ wreck_ your sons made of this world!"

He turned back to greet the guards, returning from the holding cells. "Double the taxes ," Sentinel announced, "If Optimus Prime is returning to Cybertron, we shall have little time to accomplish all our aims!" He motioned to a slick, shadowy figure near the curtains. "Send word to Sheriff Shockwave. He is free to use any method he deems necessary to collect the needed energon from the recalcitrant peasants." The figure bowed deeply. "I swear it will be done."

* * *

(Scene wipe)

* * *

"_Please_, you can't take this! It's all we have!" The gaunt femme stretched out her arms, pleading. "Don't take our last cube of energon, Sheriff. We have _hatchlings_ to feed!" The cyclops stared impassively at her, unmoved by her tears or the malnourished sparklings clutching her legs. "Sentinel Prime has an entire _planet_ to feed," the soulless monotone echoed, "Which do you think is more important?" He turned and loaded the last cube into an emotionless delivery drone. As the truck drove out of the village, he heard a tiny voice asking, "Carrier, are we going to starve?" And his spark twinged at least a little when he heard the sparkling's mother answer, "Yes, dearest, we are." Slight guilt plagued Dion as he turned to take a shortcut through a maze of alleys. About fifteen miles down the road, he stopped.

Standing in the middle of the path was a bent figure wrapped in a long hooded robe. "Have to pay a toll to come through here!" it cackled. Dion recoiled from the creaking shape, idling in a sunny patch. "What toll? There isn't any toll on this road!" The roadblock gave another wheezing laugh. "And there is no Prime in Iacon," he answered, "And every mech does what is right in his own optics!" Oh, so it was one of those Old Guard maniacs that wandered the streets spouting bits of old text, was it? Well, they were mostly harmless. Dion decided to push past the old one. Transforming, he marched up and took the other's arm. "Out of my way, old fool!" His optics narrowed. The arm he grasped was not that of a weak-armored sage. It was hale and hearty, with thick blue armor. "Oh, I _really_ wouldn't, if I were you," the voice was suddenly far less creaky.

Dion let go with a yelp as something pierced the wall beside them. He glanced over to find the still-quivering shaft of an energy arrow, just inches from his helm. "Well now, what's this? A little lost delivery truck!" a young, strong tone filled the alley. Dion looked up, and saw a host of mechs and femmes, each with masks or visors drawn over their faceplates and bows in their hands. A dozen arrows were aimed directly at his spark. The old mech who had demanded toll threw off his canvas robe to reveal a tall, red and blue mech of the Old Guard, wielding a hammer. Amidst the general laughter of the crowd, an even younger voice piped up in an insolent tune. "_There was a fool who came from Tarn and tried to steal some energon. His sensors broke, and when he awoke, every scrap had gone!"_

The singer lifted the goggles from his optics and pulled a horrible face at Dion from his position on the shoulders of a larger mech. His "perch" leaned casually on a Cybertronium Longbow. It was he who had fired the arrow. A deep red cowl covered his helm and shoulders, concealing his identity, yet Dion had heard enough rumors to guess the mech's name. "O save us!" he whispered, "You're that black-sparked scoundrel that waylays Sentinel Prime's soldiers, aren't you?" The hooded one swept his small companion off his shoulders and leapt lightly down to the ground. With a grand, mocking bow, he declared, "You guessed aright: I am that merry wanderer of the night! Rodimus o' the Hood, at your service."

He straightened and looped an arm casually over the delivery mech's shoulders. "Such a shame when nice folks like you get lost, isn't it? Never fear, friend! We'll escort you to the feast!" The rest of the archers whooped and cheered as the mech asked in bewilderment, "What feast?!" He was blindfolded and marched through a maze of twists and turns until he came to a clearing and the cloth was removed. Laughing and jostling one another, the merry band of thieves removed the energon taxed from the villagers and took it out of Dion's sight. "Hey! That belongs to the people of Cybertron! Taxes protect us from the Decepticons!" he shouted indignantly. "Right on the first count, wrong on the other," the hooded one drawled.

Dion was pushed into a sitting position on a long bench next to an absolutely infuriated Shockwave-an emotional state so rare for him as to be thought non-existent. Rodimus's people swarmed the long tables noisily, passing cubes and beakers of energon and oil. "Ah-ah-ah!" Rodimus shouted, leaping up onto the table. He clucked his tongue and shook his helm disapprovingly. "Now now, children. Manners! Why, we haven't thanked the providers of the feast yet!" He turned and made a ridiculous curtsy to the Sheriff and the delivery mech. "Your charity is humbly accepted and will be most heartily made use of, I am sure." At a wave of their Leander's servos, the hundred archers pitched their voices up into imitations of sparklings and lisped, "Thank you, Sheriff!"

Rodimus planted his hands on his hips and laughed, throwing back his helm. "They're an ill-tempered, mischievous lot of babes, I grant you. Still, they know how to be grateful, at least!" Gracefully, he dropped into the seat beside Shockwave and fell to with a will. "Rod, Rod!" He looked up as the song-singer with the goggles burst from the crowd, cradling a small spy drone in his servos. "Hot Shot! Is that a message for me? Just leave it in my hut, will you, lad?" A hint of gravity lurked in the twinkling optics, but it was soon dismissed and he clapped Shockwave on the back, earning a hate-laden glance. "Drink up, my merry mechs! We've got to get the two of you back on the road before nightfall. I hear some nasty things stalk the pathways between here and Sentinel's palace once the sun goes down!"

He beckoned to the hammer-wielder from before. "Ultra Magnus, my friend, will you take charge of our guests? I've a call waiting upon me, I fear." Magnus nodded with a rough smile and lifted a tankard of oil in salute. Rodimus o' the Hood slipped into a ramshackle lean-to as the irate Sheriff and Dion were led away blindfolded. Jeering and waving farewell, the group of thieves took the rest of the energon and prepared to give it back to the villagers, as was their wont. The spy drone buzzed quietly on a stack of crates. "The red-banded drone," Rodimus murmured, "That's a distress signal!" He activated it and a pretty femme's hologram appeared. He blinked. "Moonracer? What's wrong?" The pale green helm turned back and forth as she whispered, "Keep your voice _down_, will you? I think I'm being monitored!"

"Monitored? You mean Sentinel is beginning to suspect you?" Rodimus began to pace. Moonracer was his inside agent, the main source of information for his Rebels. If she was compromised, they were all in danger. "I think he suspects everyone right now!" Moonracer hissed, "He's paranoid delusional psycho-bonkers! He talks to Prima's portrait..._and acts like it answers_! But that's not why I'm calling." Briefly, she paused and jerked her helm up, listening intently. She let out a relieved vent. "Okay, it was just my imagination," she breathed. "Rodimus, listen. They've captured an Autobot from Earth!" In his hut, Rodimus froze. "Earth? Moonracer, are you absolutely certain? Did he have news of the Prime?"

Grimly, Moonracer told the hooded mech of how Jazz had been imprisoned so that no one should know that Optimus Prime was returning. Rodimus loudly cursed Sentinel in several different languages. "It gets worse," Moonracer pursed her lips. "He has such a deadly reputation that they're executing him tomorrow." Suddenly there came a crash from Moonracer's end of the link. A nasty snicker filled the audio feed. "Yes, due to die at dawn, just as you are, Maid Moonracer!" The slim femme backed away from an unseen assailant, shutting off the video screen of the spy drone. "Oil Slick! How _dare_ you barge in here without permission? Why, when Sentinel Prime hears about this-"

She was cut off. "Sentinel Prime gave the order, my dear. You can tell your beloved Rodimus your last goodbyes from the front of the firing squad tomorrow!" The link went dead, and the drone fell from Rodimus's nerveless servos. Heavy footsteps heralded the approach of one of his closest friends. "Hood look worried. Me Grimlock think he should go smash things! That always make Grimlock feel better!" The huge Dinobot leaned on an even larger sword with an easy smile. Rodimus could not muster one of his own. "They've got Moonracer," he choked. Others heard his declaration, and soon a crowd had gathered. "Rodimus, what do we do?" Ultra Magnus asked quietly. The young mech did not answer, but there was fire in his optics.

* * *

scene break

* * *

Jazz stretched his battered limbs as he paced the cell. At least he could take comfort in knowing that the little femme in the cell next to his had managed to tell_ somebody_ that Optimus was coming. His mission had not been a total waste. Down the hall, he could hear approaching footsteps. "Must be near dawn," he sighed. He turned to look through the bars at the younger 'Bot next door. "Are you scared?" she asked. He shook his helm. "Nah, it takes a heck of a lot more than death to scare me! What about you?" His faceplate softened as she looked away and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Hey, c'mere kid." Jazz held a hand out through the bars. "This your first time with a death sentence?" She crept close and nodded, shamefaced. "I'm _trying_ to be as brave as I usually am, I'm really trying, but..."

Jazz squeezed her shoulder. "I know, it's rough, kid. Now, I've been through this whole dance once or twice before. There's usually a way out of the mess. But even if there isn't, do you regret helping me?" Moonracer shook her helm violently. "Not a chance! Rodimus and the Rebels know now, they can get ready if Sentinel tries to interfere with the Prime's return." Lightly, Jazz chucked her under the chin. "Atta girl, that's the spirit!" The door swung open with a rusty groan, and they were met with a grey, grinning Death's Head mask. It was the executioner. "Right," the buzzing, broken voice growled, "Let's get this over with."

They were led from their cells into a dingy courtyard surrounded by guards. "What, no stasis cuffs?" Jazz taunted the mech holding his arms. "Nope," the low toned executioner replied, "We'd have to catch you, the cuff you, then shoot you, then get the cuffs off...it's just too much effort." Moonracer scoffed disdainfully. "Oh yes, it's _far_ simpler to just shoot them! I notice there are as few witnesses as possible. What, is Sentinel beginning to fear his own people?" The sweet voice turned bitter. "_Good_." Moonracer looked up at the line of marksmen in Elite Guard armor and visors and her breath hitched ever-so-slightly. Jazz reached over and took her hand. "It's gonna be alright, kid," he soothed, "I'll be right next to you the whole time." Gratefully, she squeezed his servos. Sentinel looked out over a balcony with a bored expression. "Well, what are you all standing there for? I haven't got all day, just shoot them!" he complained.

The executioner saluted. "Right away, you putrescent pile of scrap!" In the shocked silence that followed, Sentinel managed to gasp, "What did you call me?" The Death's Head mask betrayed nothing, but there was a touch of humor in his voice as he released Moonracer and Jazz. "Hmm, too familiar? How about this then: his supreme lowness, the usurper Sentinel, chiefest of warmongers!" Some of the guards at the edges of the arena equipped their blasters and began to advance on the insulting executioner while Sentinel sputtered in outrage. "Ooh, didn't like that one, did you?" the mocking voice took a higher, more familiar pitch. "Well then, why don't we stick to the one we're all familiar with?"

With a sweep of his hand, he drew off the mask to reveal an insolent smile and a scarlet hood. Holo-paint faded away to red and gold as Rodimus shook his fist in the air. _"A pox on the phony Prime of Cybertron!"_ With a desperate shriek of rage, Sentinel pounded the parapet. "Kill him! _Somebody_ kill him!" Rodimus handed the long rifle he held to Moonracer and drew the bow from his back. "Here you are, darling. I hope you've been practicing your aim!" As the three Autobots stood back to back, the femme scoffed. "I'm twice the marksman you are, Rodimus o' the Hood! ...I've just never actually killed anyone before...it's kind of against my code." Suddenly she whipped up the barrel and fired off two shots, dropping an approaching guard. "What was that about your code?" Jazz asked dryly. Moonracer shrugged. "It's pretty fuzzy on the area of knee-joints."

Jazz jolted as his other companion threw back his helm and let out an ululating whoop that sounded like a cross between a wildcat's scream and Death itself. "What in the Pit was _that_?!" he asked. The infamous bandit bared his denta in a feral smile. "_That_, my friend, was the rebel yell." Across the courtyard, seven voices repeated the horrible howls, and seven of the firing squad ripped off their visors to reveal faceplates Jazz vaguely knew. Jazz shrugged and lifted his voice in a battle-call of his own. "Give 'em the Pit, boys!" The battle was joined as Sentinel slunk away to hide. Though two Rebels gave up their sparks in defense of their comrades, it was ultimately Rodimus and his mechs who were the victors as they escaped into the slums of Tarn.

That evening, Jazz stood in celebration with the rest of the Rebels, passing out energon to the poorest mechs and femmes of Tarn. He was surprised to see a familiar face in the crowd. "Well of all the- Ultra Magnus! Is that you?" The large older mech chuckled and clasped arms with him. "Good to see you, Jazz! How goes the War?" "To our favor, thanks to the humans." Jazz answered. The Rebels looked confused. "_Yuman_? What is _'yuman_?" Grimlock asked, scratching his helm. Jazz grinned. "Mech, it's a long story!" Beside him, Rodimus left off felt hint a new quiver of arrows and crossed his arms. "I think what we'd all really like to know is when Optimus is coming back."

"Soon," Jazz whispered, looking out at the stars, "I got a feeling that he and that brother of his are a _lot_ closer than Sentinel thinks."


	35. Chapter 35

**Merry Christmas to you all! I shan't be posting anything tomorrow, so I'm posting this now. **

**I just looked out my window and saw four of the neighbor children laughing hysterically in my front yard as the older boy tackled his little sister's bike. Don't ask me why, but they remind me of some of the kids in this chapter**

**As Tiny Tim said, "God bless us, every one"!**

* * *

Cold hands, Warm hearts

Snow blanketed the streets of London, lending an air of magic to the lighted windows of the shops as a pair of bedraggled figures made their way through the muddy slush of the sidewalks to the poorer side of town. If the unfortunates of the neighborhood were supposed to be miserable in the cold, no one had told Raphael Foiche and Hagen Shackleton. Arm in arm the boys marched into the dingy collection of buildings, loudly singing Christmas carols. At the end of the row stood a sad little house, two stories high and boarded up. The lads scampered up the rotting siding like a pair of monkeys and slipped through an open window. Within, a ragged woman moved restlessly about, tending to several of ten children.

"Nollaig Shona, ceann amháin agus go léir!" Hagen shouted, doffing his snowy cap. The smaller children whooped and swarmed the bigger boy in a wave, knocking him to the ground. "Hagen's back, Ma!" squealed a sickly girl-child. She pulled at her eldest brother's coat pockets. "Have ye brought us ought?" Ten pairs of eyes stared expectantly up at the boy, who patted their tousled heads grandly. "Well, I can't say as I did," he paused and noted the disappointment in his mother's face. "Janey Mack! Don't take on so, my dotes! I never brought ye nothin' cos it's too big to bring!" Beside him, Raphael grinned and nodded. "You're all invited up to the Manor for Christmas!" he fairly crowed the words, unable to contain his excitement.

"Oh Hagen, ye mean it lad?" Marta Shackleton gasped, roughened hands pressed to her heart. Her eldest son seized her by the hands and danced in a wild loop about the room. "Bundle the chiselers and leave off with the mending, Oul Dear! We're a'going to Lord Prime's house!" It was with an air of merriment and mild anticipation that twelve figures dressed in their Sunday finest marched through the snow. "Brendan's gone to invite the rest of the Foiche family as well," announced Raphael happily, clinging to the hands of Florrie and Pat, the babies. The procession halted at the great marble pillars at the front of the massive house. Sean and Abigail Foiche stood at the door with their brood. Brendan, Peter, Alice, Paul and Brigid waved cheerfully as they caught sight of their youngest brother in the midst of the Shackleton brigade. "Nollaig Shona!" they cried. A servant opened the ornate doors and ushered them inside, fairly sweeping them all through the hall to stand before a roaring fire. "Now just you all stand here til the frost is gone," he scolded, "And we'll get some hot drinks into you."

Moments later, a sweet-faced woman in a gown of pine green silk stepped into the room holding a tray of tea. "Welcome!" she greeted them warmly and set the tray upon a table. A pin shaped rather like holly berries sat delicately in her raven hair, swept properly out of the way in a knot. When one is playing the hostess, after all, one must look the part. The expensive dress made a welcome change from her nurse's uniform, Widow Darby thought as she gaily chatted with the guests. "Lord Optimus is in his study at present, attending to some private matter I have no doubt," said she, "but I have been asked to bring you all to his library."

The center of the magnificent chamber now hosted an evergreen tree that nearly brushed the ceiling. Candles glowed among the branches, and it was trimmed with charming glass ornaments and more presents than the children had ever seen. At the base of the tree, Miss Arcee beamed at them. "Merry Christmas," the glad greeting hailed, "When everyone else arrives, we shall begin!" Before long, Dr. Samuel Isaiah Rach arrived, warmly wrapped in a fur coat. "Merry Christmas, my dear Mrs. Darby," his words glowed nearly as much as his cheeks. The woman's eyes sparkled as she returned the fond wishes. The adults spoke politely to each other in low tones for a time, and the young ones gazed in awe at the tree. Even Brendan and Peter and Alice, who thought themselves rather too old for such frivolities, were entranced.

With a hearty "Hallo!" Wheels Jerome strode into the room. Impudently he winked at Miss d'Iacon and turned to kiss his aunt on the cheek. "Auntie Marta, me darlin', how've you been keeping?" He laughed as she slapped him away. She pretended to be cross with him, but it was never meant seriously. "Ye smell of horse, boyo! Where've ye been?" A bright young voice from the staircase answered, "Sleeping in the stables again, like as not!" Like a fairy princess, Mo Li descended into the room with orange blossoms woven into her hair. Wheels offered her a genteel bow. "Correct as usual, Mrs. O'Garvie! How very charming you look this evening." Brogan's young bride blushed prettily and slipped into a chair near to the Shackleton children. In an instant, baby Florrie had pulled herself into the Chinese girl's lap, and sat among the folds of lilac satin, gazing adoringly into her dark eyes.

Her husband joined the merry gathering shortly afterward, still fussing with his cravat: an article of clothing he was wholly unused to wearing. With nearly all the guests assembled, there were only two missing. The first of these clattered down the stairs as the grandfather clock struck six, hastily smoothing a dark overcoat. A signet ring gleamed upon his left hand and his right hand clutched an envelope. "My apologies, everyone," he smiled sheepishly. "I did not mean to be so late." Amid assurances that he hardly late at all, Raph called out, "Come join us, Jack! We're still waitin' on Lord Optimus." The older boy chuckled, and moved into the crowd, slipping the letter into his vest pocket.

At a quarter to seven, a familiar voice was heard in the hallway. "Are you certain you won't stay to dinner, Mr. Holmes?" Lord Prime had finished his business for the evening. His visitor replied that sadly he could not, for he would be spending Christmas with his friend and colleague, Dr. Watson and his wife Mary. Wishing all in the manor a blessed evening, the detective departed and Lord Prime entered the library. Dark eyebrows rose comically at the sight of the families crowded about the tree. "Good heavens: people!" he chortled, shutting the doors behind him. Stopping to greet every person by name, even baby Florrie, Optimus made his way to the tree and lifted down a package. "Now where is Lucy Shackleton?" he asked, as if bewildered. One of Hagen's seven sisters raised her hand shyly. "Well come and see your gift, young lady," the nobleman urged with eyes a-twinkle, "There's no need to be shy!"

Under the brightly colored paper was a fine, warm coat of pink wool with gloves to match. As if by magic, they fit perfectly. Peeping out of one of the coat pockets was a little wooden poppet sweetly dressed in the same coat. Each of the little Shackleton girls and Brigid Foiche received a coat, gloves, oranges and a doll. Paul, Raph, Hagen and his three younger brothers were given coats, shoes, oranges and lead soldiers. The elder children had somewhat more practical gifts, to an extent. No explanation was asked or given regarding the odd green nutcracker doll that found its way to Mo Li's arms, nor the manual detailing the proper care of gryphons that came to Peter. Alice received a book of cryptograms and Brendan laughed over the monogrammed ammunition pouch labeled "to Brendan, FOR HIS VERY OWN." It was well-known that the young Irishman was notorious for borrowing ammunition from the house.

Jack raised his eyes to meet his mother's almost in shock as he was given his gift. It was a small pistol, very like the kind Miss d'Iacon and the Bull's Horn Band carried. Engraved into the barrel were his initials and the crest of House Prime. Lord Optimus's eyes twinkled as he observed the young people enthusiastically comparing their gifts. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "Dinner will be ready shortly, if you'll follow me." Dr. Rach glanced over at the brightly chattering children. "All of us?" he asked. Miss Arcee laughed. "Let them play, doctor. I'll fetch them when it's time." The parents and adults smiled and slipped from the library, leaving the lit chamber like an enchanted island in the midst of cold reality. As he turned to shut the doors, Optimus smiled benignly. "Merry Christmas, my dears."


	36. Chapter 36

**In which an alternative origin is given to the character of Flareup (G1): a bit of light-hearted fun hashed out betwixt Beri and I**

* * *

The Project

No one knew how long the pod had been hurtling through space: it's occupant was in no shape to check. Launched from a dying world in hopes of a brighter future, the little being tumbled amongst the stars in a state of hibernation, waiting until it found some safe place to land. Through plasma storms and asteroid fields and enemy crafts the sturdy little pod had floated, bringing it at last to a small, barely noticeable corner of the galaxy with nine planets orbiting a bright yellow star. Not, of course, that the tiny passenger marked her surroundings, for she was still in a temporary state of stasis.

When the third planet from the sun gave indications of similar life-forms to the pod's charge, it altered course and went careening down through the atmosphere with a spectacular burst of flame. Of course, to anyone in Jasper who'd bothered to look up at all, it just looked like another shooting star that had happened to land near the high school. The truth of the matter was that it had landed _in_ the school itself! The pod crashed through the roof and landed in a storage room full of rolling metal bins. With a sad little wheeze, the stalwart craft that had protected its passenger for so long collapsed into spare parts on the top of the shelf where it had landed.

In the wreckage, two bright blue lights flickered on and something like a yawn echoed in the empty room. The minuscule creature sat up with an effort and jammed her hand thoughtfully into her mouth so as to think. What did she know? Well, she was cold, dark was scary, and she liked orange. There, that was all the important stuff, settled! Then, with a squeak of dismay, she lost her balance and toppled over, rolling off the shelf and into one of the bins. It was full of creatures almost just like her! Happily, she tapped one's helm and burbled cheerfully to it. How odd: none of them answered! They all seemed locked into some kind of power-down mode. Suddenly lonely, the fragile wanderer curled into a ball and powered down as well.

OooOooOooO

"Right now, you're probably all complaining to yourselves about how much you hate the Family Studies class," the teacher droned, "Well you can take a small measure of comfort in knowing that I don't want to be here any more than you do." He paused to throw a wadded-up piece of paper at a student who was talking in the third row. "Pay attention, miscreants! This is your final project!" Out of the closet he wheeled a bin full of odd-looking multicolored robot babies. Mr. Archer held one up before the class. "Guess what, guys? Remember all the times you laughed at the older students for having to cart a fake baby around and pretend it was real? Well this is what they call _payback_." He placed a round, red patch on each one.

Casually, he strolled up and down the aisles between desks, pairing off students at random and handing out newly activated units. "Vince and Rebecca, here's your little bundle of bolts. Kyoungil, Carol, you get a pink one. Sierra and Mac, looks like its green for you; watch it, he looks kinda sickly." Archer paused in front of Emily and Kevin before handing them theirs. "Okay miscreants: you have to name these things and take care of them like your life depended on it. If you don't, believe me, we'll know. There are super-sensitive microchips in these red stickers to let the school know if they're being cared for or not." Emily stared dismayed at a jagged scratch on the surface of hers. "Sir, mine is damaged!" she protested. Mr. Archer glanced at it critically. "Congratulations, you got the Bot-who-Lived." He moved around the room until the bin was nearly empty. Near the window, a young man sat with a look of longsuffering patience as the girl beside him flicked pencil shavings at his desk. Like a demented jack-in-the-box, Mr. Archer popped up between them.

"_Mr. Darby_! Seeing how well you and Ms. Nakadai get along, I have high hopes for your project!" With an air of wicked glee, he produced the last robot baby and deposited it in Miko's arms. "There you go, one obnoxiously orange and possibly defective unit: but at least it takes after you rather than your partner." At first, the girl recoiled from the slippery metallic creature. Then as the teacher returned to the front of the room, she took a closer look and her eyes widened. "Jack, _look_ at her! I don't think this is a school product!" she hissed, scooting her chair closer to his desk. "It's a her?" Jack asked blankly, earning a frustrated kick. He leaned over his partner's shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't exactly look like the others, does she?" The bell rang, cutting of further observation as the various teams awkwardly tried to sort out schedules and turns.

The room emptied, save for two. Miko emptied her backpack to make a semblance of a sling for their unusual charge while Jack held the "baby". "You're right, Miko," he breathed after a moment, noting the way the metal "skin" was smooth and warm and the way tiny servos curled and uncurled, "There's no way she's man-made." In his arms, round blue optics snapped open. The time had come to stop mimicking the other metal things: these beings exuded a very familiar feeling. An electronic squeal signaled to the teens that their joint project demanded their attention. Shifting his weight, Jack cradled it closer and unconsciously began bouncing on his heels in an attempt to soothe it. "You think it's of Cybertronian origin?" he asked in a low voice. Miko nodded seriously. "Bulkhead once described sparklings to me: they sound an awful lot like our little friend here."

She frowned and ran a hand over the sparkling's faceplate. "Where did you come from, small fry? And what are we gonna call you?" The sparkling was merely happy that someone was paying attention to her and made a grab for the funny femme-thing's hand. How very strange! It was warm like metal, but much softer. This warranted further investigation. The sparkling shoved Miko's fingers into her mouth quickly. "Ack! Hey, no!" Miko tried unsuccessfully to pry her hand out of the baby's surprisingly strong grip. "No biting!" Gently, Jack helped force the little mouth open to rescue Miko's slightly bruised hand. "Well," he said after a moment, "This is going to be an adventure. Y'know, we have to name her."

The girl didn't seem to hear him as she slipped the sparkling into her backpack. "Don't you give me that face, little miss. We do _not_ bite, biting is no!" She looked up and caught Jack's incredulous stare. "Shut up, it's part of the project!" Miko said quickly. The boy grinned and shook his head, picking up Miko's books. "You realize the rest of the family is going to go berserk, right?" he asked her as the pair made their way to the parking lot. "We've been given charge of an honest-to-Primus _sparkling_! What are the odds of that happening?" They halted in front of a waiting Bulkhead and Arcee and exchanged glances. "Do you wanna take her, or should I?" Miko asked uncomfortably. Jack scratched his head. "Uh...it's probably safer for her in Bulkhead. I'll meet up with you at base, okay? We can work out care shifts there."

Jack slipped his helmet on and settled onto the motorcycle. Arcee's wry tones crackled over the speaker next to his ear, making him wince. "What was that all about?" She sounded curious and a little suspicious. Jack patted the deep blue metal affectionately and leaned forward over the handlebars. "I'll tell you when we get home, 'Cee. If I said anything now, it'd distract you from driving." The mirrors twitched up and down in imitation of a shrug. "If you say so, Partner." With a rumble, the bike sped out of the lot and headed for the desert.

As it turned out, Raf had explained the project to the Autobots the last time the school had done it, meaning that Jack and Miko did not need to tell them why they had to behave like parents to a robotic doll. They did, however, find themselves being questioned on why said doll had a spark signature. Ratchet took the sparkling from Miko, who scowled and crossed her arms. The medic cradled the little one with an expression of tender awe on his faceplates. "No one's seen a sparkling since...well, since Bumblebee's generation, I'd imagine!" He squinted at the orange plating of the infant's primary armor. "Actually, it looks like she was part of the same batch. Plate growth is stunted, that happens sometimes in the event of extended cryo-stasis."

Jack scrambled up onto the console beside Ratchet. "Is she healthy, though? And how did she end up at our school?" After a few scans (which the orange sparkling loudly protested) Ratchet pronounced her to be in almost perfect health. Arcee leaned in close with optics shining. "She's _beautiful_!" the femme gasped, reaching out slowly. As she had done before, the sparkling latched on to the proffered servo and tried to fit it in her mouth. "No ma'am! Do _not_ bite Auntie Arcee!" Miko said in a warning tone. "Ah, she won't do any damage," Jack assured her. He ducked as she threw a pen at him. "Don't tell her that! We have to be consistent or she'll get confused!" Behind them, Bulkhead chuckled. "Boy, you're really taking this parenting thing seriously, aren't you Miko?" Deadly serious eyes turned towards him. "Half my _grade_ is riding on whether or not the data the tracker chips send tells the teachers that we provided a safe and stable environment for the kid. I can't afford to fail the class!"

Jack took the sparkling back from Ratchet and could not help but grin as she cooed and latched onto his shirt. "I never really thought of sparklings acting like human babies," he murmured, running his fingers over the unblemished helm. "And what did you expect them to behave like?" Smokescreen tiptoed to get a better look at the baby. The boy shrugged, embarrassed. "I dunno, really. I think I might've been halfway picturing the Thark hatchlings from the _Barsoom_ books." A cursory Internet search provided the Autobots with the context of the statement. Arcee looked mildly insulted, but Ratchet nodded thoughtfully. "Once or twice, I have seen infant Cybertronians that looked and behaved similarly. Those were the ones whose sparks were forged cold, rather than coming from the Well: they tended to be a little feral at first." Despite the humans' curiosity, he refused to say any more on the subject.

Optimus and Bumblebee returned from a relic-retrieval mission shortly thereafter and it was the first time the children had ever seen the mighty Prime lost for words. "May I?" he finally managed, holding out a hand. Jack was willing, the baby was not. She'd decided she was quite comfortable being held by the warm squishy mech-thing, and she had no intention of moving. A compromise was reached and Jack stepped into Optimus's hand still holding the clingy sparkling. Large optics narrowed and focused, no doubt seeing things the human eye could not. "Her designation is Flareup," Optimus announced, "And her caste-glyphs mark her as munitions and demolition-class. Did you salvage her pod?"

Reluctantly, the teens admitted that they hadn't even known she'd come in a pod. Optimus frowned. "A lifepod is the only logical way a sparkling this size could have made it to Earth. It would have been programmed to seek out adult spark signatures and utilize sublight technology to subtly alter time and space, bringing Flareup here. We cannot allow that technology to fall into the wrong hands." Abruptly, little Flareup scrunched up her faceplate and began to make distressed chirping noises. Jack looked up at Optimus helplessly. "Even if she was programmed to act just like a human baby," he gulped, "I'd still only have a vague idea of what to do." Optimus allowed a hint of a smile to touch his face as he set the boy and sparkling back onto the platform next to Miko. "The assignment still stands, I believe. You and Miko will have to learn to care for Flareup for the duration of the project, but you will not do so alone."

Miko approved of this heartily. "Yeah! Plenty of families have members take turns taking care of the kids, right?" Ratchet made a scoffing sound and turned back to where he was formulating diluted energon. "Yes, Miko," he replied, slightly sarcastic, "In case you hadn't noticed, that's the system we used with you already!" He shook the solution in the beaker until, satisfied, he handed it off to Bumblebee. "Mind he takes all of it this time," he warned in a low voice, "With a sparkling around, we can't afford to waste any formula." The scout buzzed an affirmative and scuttled off. "What was that?" Smokescreen asked loudly, startling Flareup. As Jack handed her to Miko and tried to find something to distract her, an irritated Arcee answered Smokescreen's question. "It's none of your concern, rookie. Just residual effects of dark energon poisoning. It's under control."

Miko hoisted herself up onto the console, one-handed, ignoring the Autobots' barely suppressed squeaks and gasps as Flareup dangled grumpily over one shoulder. "Geez, you're like a bunch of grannies!" the girl rolled her eyes. "I know how to hold a baby!" Swinging her boots back and forth, Miko bounced Flareup on her lap and dangled one of her ever-present stuffed animal keychains in front of her. The sparkling calmed down in seconds, wholly distracted by the brightly colored toy. "See?" Miko said calmly in response to the others' shocked expressions, "Not a total rookie here." Smokescreen leaned on the rails and stared at the pair. "Okay, lemme see if I got this straight: your academy takes a sparkling, gives it to a couple of slightly older sparklings, and tells them to pretend to be its Sire and Carrier. So is Flareup going to think you're her parents?" Of course, when put that way, the whole affair seemed awkward.

"Usually it's a drone," Bulkhead took the liberty of explaining, "It's supposed to be practice or something, since family units are so important to humans." Flareup, in the meantime, had managed to catch hold of the stuffed animal and was beaming triumphantly. She twisted around and stared up at Miko expectantly. "What?" the girl asked. Suddenly, it dawned on Jack. "Oh! She's asking you if it's ok to put it in her mouth!" Miko considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, Flareup. Minimon you can bite, but not people." She glanced up at Jack. "Does that work for you?" she asked. "Um sure...why wouldn't it?" he blinked when Miko gave a frustrated huff. "Did you even read the syllabus?! We're literally supposed to act like her parents!" She pointed to the flat red sticker that functioned as a transmitter and raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Jack. Teamwork." Jack flushed and cleared his throat. "Right, sorry. I guess we should work out who takes care of her and when?"

At Optimus's suggestion and June's later (reluctant) approval, it was decided that Jack and Miko would live on the base for the next two weeks so that they would have access to energon for the sparkling. All Autobots not on missions would rotate out teaching the humans the proper care and education of a Cybertronian infant. Even Agent Fowler got in on the act, offering to "purchase" the "robot unit" from the school when the project was over. None of the Autobots were particularly happy about the kids taking Flareup to school with them, and it took a fair amount of arguing to convince them that it was required. "I've got math, history, free period and wood shop before lunch," Miko sighed, hoisting a slightly-larger Flareup on her hip. "Your free period is right before mine, right? I can't have her babbling in history. Can you take her then and we'll switch off in the hall?" Jack nodded and handed her the fake bottle each unit had come with. "Ratchet put 30 cc's of formula in there, so don't give it to her all at once. We still need some for Raf." "I know, I was there this morning," she said dryly.

Jack chuckled sheepishly. "Right, right. My bad." Something over Miko's shoulder caught his attention and he sputtered and choked on a laugh. "Oh gosh, Miko. Look behind you!" Vince was at the door looking rather disappointed as Rebecca, his assigned partner, took their robot baby with her to class. "Bye buddy!" the sometime-bully called in an almost-tearful voice, "I'll see you later! Be good for your mom!" With wide eyes, Miko turned very quickly around. "So much for his career in intimidation!" Jack pressed his lips together in an effort to keep from laughing. "No, I don't imagine we'll be un-seeing _that_ anytime soon."

The day proceeded normally with the shared child-minding working like a charm. All was well, save for one hair raising moment when Sierra tried to start a conversation with Jack over the robot babies...something little Flareup decided was _not_ to be tolerated. The young man was only barely able to pass the squirming and angry squeaks as a factory malfunction before hastily making his exit. In the days that followed, life at school and home began to fall into a routine. As Cybertronians need sleep less frequently than humans, Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee kept Flareup during the night. It was during these times that she was given most of her energon ration and allowed to run wild until daybreak. Then she would wake up her temporary "parents" and witness the average morning routine of a human. School time was nap time for the sparkling, as it is very difficult to keep a baby quietly amused in a high school classroom.

After school she stayed with Jack and Miko unless a mission was involved. "Even real parents tend to have jobs," Ratchet had grumbled. They all knew it was just an excuse to get everyone out of the base so no one would see him cooing over Flareup. June, although wary at first, had quickly warmed up to the sparkling and spoiled her rotten, citing "Grandmother's Perogative". Once night fell, the humans would be sent to bed and Flareup would go to her playroom again. Every now and then, when Outpost Omega was silent, Optimus Prime would take the tiny femme and slip outside under the stars, telling her stories of their homeworld.

The two weeks ended sooner than the teens were ready for. "Well," sighed Jack as he leaned back in the couch, "As weird as this might sound, I'm gonna miss sleeping on base." He shifted Flareup in his arms and checked to make sure she had finished her bottle. Miko shot him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I mean, this is more home to me than my host parents' house. Here, budge over." She flopped down beside him and took one of Flareup's delicate hands in her own. "It doesn't really feel like the project is over. I guess it's since she's not going back to Mr. Archer." It had been a near thing, convincing the teacher that they only needed to bring in the sensor sticker and not the whole "doll". Fowler had to pull some strings in the end, but Jack and Miko passed with flying colors.

"I'm going to miss you, too, munchkin!" Jack trailed his fingers lightly over the sparkling's sensitive pedes, eliciting a series of human-like giggles as she squirmed and tried to get away. Watching them, Bulkhead scratched his helm. "Miss her? But you'll still be helping us take care of her, won't you?" The teens were slightly surprised. "We just thought..." "We'd kinda assumed..." The Wrecker rolled his optics at them. "Nah, we can't be here with Flareup _all_ the time, we're _soldiers_ for crying out loud!" Jack raised his eyebrows. "You've got a point there. I guess it'll just mean she doesn't go to school with us anymore?" Miko scooped up the sparkling and hugged her close. "Baby says, _Yay! No more boring classes_!" In a high, sweet voice, Flareup abruptly repeated, "Yay! No mo' bowing cwasses!" She clapped her hands at everyone's astonished faces. "I tan Engwish now!" she announced proudly, "Just yike Mama and Dada!" Miko wasn't sure whether to be elated or slightly terrified that Flareup thought of her and Jack as her parents.

Miko grinned and held Flareup up to see the rest of the Autobots. "Okay, if we're Mama and Dada, who's that?" She pointed to Raf. The sparkling tipped her helm to the side like an owl. "Other sparkling." she said carelessly. Bumblebee thought this was very humorous, of course, but Raf was less enthusiastic. "Aw, come on Flareup! I'm not a baby!" he cried. Indignantly, she crossed her arms. "O yah you are! You take en-gon bottle, you yittle yike me, you a sparkling!" Giggling, Arcee waved from across the room. "Flareup, do you know my name? Who am I?" After a second's thought, the little orange femme declared, "Auntie Arcee! And I no bite Auntie Arcee, that bad." She squawked in protest as a scanning beam was run over her. Squirming out of Miko's arms, she burrowed into the couch cushions behind Jack, almost throwing him on to the floor.

"Interesting," Ratchet muttered, "She has full linguistic capacities, yet she is choosing to speak like a human toddler. I assume she feels the need to conform to the nature of her primary caretakers." This was met with a loud, childish roar as Flareup stuck her head out of the cushions and bared her denta at the medic. "What the heck?" Smokescreen burst out laughing. "What was that?! Come on kid, that's no way to talk to Uncle Ratchet!" Flareup curled her servos like claws and waved them in the air. "I not a kid! I a yion! Rawr!" Jack plucked the sparkling from her fort and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry guys, we decided to let her watch Lion King...evidently that was a bad idea." Bulkhead snorted and raised his hands in a 'what-are-you-gonna-do' gesture. "Hey, as long as she doesn't bite anybody, it's all good."

After declaring that Bumblebee was "other sparkling's bruvver" and Bulkhead was "Unca Bulk", Flareup got tired of the naming game and climbed up onto Jack's shoulders. "Go to roof, Dada!" she shouted imperiously. "Oops," Miko tugged her pigtails sheepishly, "We forgot to teach her please and thank you, didn't we?" Jack sighed and disentangled sharp servos from his hair. "Yep." Without looking up from decoding the Iacon database, Optimus called sternly, "Flareup, ask nicely." The sparkling ducked and hid her faceplate in her "Dada's" hair. "Otay Grandpa," the muffled voice sounded apologetic. She leaned over Jack's head to stare upside down into his eyes. "Pwease go to roof, Dada?" Jack sputtered and met Miko's startled gaze. "Grandpa?!" they both squeaked. This was either very weird or hilarious, and they weren't sure which.

They would repeat that sentiment about a great many other things as Flareup grew.


	37. Chapter 37

**Sometimes you see people as you glance around in traffic and you think, "There has to be a story behind that face/that car/that reaction"**

* * *

Slip Away

We've been on the road for a long, long time.

A beat up old Mustang can take you where you want to go, provided you take care of it. Still, two years is a sight too much to be between places. Two years: that's how long it's been just the two of us, looking for someplace to call home. She's not saying anything, but I think she's cold again. She only puts her feet up on the seat when she's cold. I can't turn the heat on for her, it tends to go out in this old Ford. It's April anyway, mild though it be. Of course, she's almost always cold; I tend to think she didn't take a lot of vitamins when she was a kid, but it ain't my business to ask her.

There's one of those roadside comfort-food places two miles ahead. We can stop off there and rest a bit; there should be enough money left for one good meal. I pull up and park at the curb to let her out. She'd better actually eat this time, she's skinny enough as is. I don't wanna hear any more of that "getting snacks for the road" garbage. I send her ahead of me and wait in the parking lot, idly driving around the building. It wouldn't do much good to go in with her. Even in this day and age, some places just won't serve folks like me. It's been twenty minutes, I may as well park. In the lot across the street I catch sight of some familiar faces and move behind the restaurant so they don't see me. I won't deny that I used to run with a pretty rough crowd. Heck, I'd probably still be with 'em if I didn't have the Waif to look after.

It wasn't a good life by any stretch of the imagination, but it was all I'd known. Then a couple of buddies of mine defied the boss...it wasn't pretty. I had to clean up the mess, tried hiding their corpses under an old bridge. I just sorta stayed there with 'em. They were the only friends I had, after all. She found me down there half dead myself, practically dragged me to a friend of hers who patched me up. Trouble was, that friend had somehow made it onto the government's Naughty List. We were there when they came to arrest him, hiding in his shed. I think I panicked or something, because that's the only way I can justify grabbing the Waif and running like that. I don't even know if they're still chasing us, but I'm not taking any chances. I've seen on the news what happens when guys like me run across G-men with chips on their shoulders. It's a mess, and it ain't something I want her to be part of.

The cell phone in the cup holder buzzes: it's a text message. She's done, waiting for me to pick her up. It ain't a proper phone, just one of those cheap ones with a preset amount of calls. It's harder to trace those, especially when you know how to scramble 'em. I pull around front and wince at the way the brakes squeal. I need to get that looked at, but I've been putting it off. There she is, clutching that little bitty handbag of hers and hiding under that old-fashioned hat like it was the mask of Zorro. Sweet mercy, you'd have thought the kid got lost on her way to the 1940s or something. "Brakes are soundin' rough," she rasps as she climbs in. She doesn't use my name, I guess she hasn't picked out one for this town yet. It varies by city, y'know.

Sometimes she's Bonnie and I'm Clyde; one time we were Lily and Sev...only one time. She likes to call me Red: she says it sounds like some Old West Irish gangster, whatever that's supposed to mean. "Yeah, the brakes are wearing down," I agree, "It's an older model." We pull out of the lot and thankfully my old "friends" don't notice us leaving. It's quiet for a while, but at least she's not cold anymore. "What'd you get?" I ask, changing lanes. She shrugs. "Couple of pancakes, two eggs and a bowl of grits." Well, that's better than either of us have had in months. "I saved you some coffee, Red," she whispers. _Dang._ She knows I love that stuff. It's horrible for me though, absolutely horrible. Still, I can't get the kind of food I need, so coffee has to suffice. "Thanks Audrey, I'll get it in a minute," I mutter gruffly.

She smiles a little. "Audrey, huh? What made you pick that one?" Eh, I don't even know anymore. I just said the first name that came to mind, but I don't want to admit it. I tell her that it was because her sister's wedding anniversary is coming up, and heaven knows the woman loves Audrey Hepburn films. She knows I'm lying, but doesn't comment. If I could actually remember when her sister's anniversary was, that excuse might work a little better. "Where we headed this week?" I ask, taking note of a traffic cop up ahead. "Um..." the Waif flips through the book of maps randomly. "McAllen, TX. That suit you?" Heck yeah, that suits me! I always did like Texas. Uh-oh. There's a road block up ahead, couple of highway patrolmen stopping cars and asking for identification. "Seat switch, Audrey, get the papers." I growl. She pops open the glove compartment and pulls out some high-quality counterfeit identification and registration.

I got them from a guy in the Windy City who makes a living with that kind of thing. Not that I'd ever tell the Waif that, she worries enough without knowing I'm messing around on the Black Market. Alright, so maybe I actually extorted the guy, scared the _heck_ out of him. She doesn't need to know that either. "What's up, Red?" she asks. "Couple of bears," I answer as she clambers into the driver's seat. "Why do I gotta drive?" She's not thrilled, and I don't blame her. She hasn't really had to drive for two years: I keep forgetting she's old enough. "Cuz the projector's busted. Now get your hands on the wheel and act like you know what you're doing!" I didn't mean to snap at her. She always shuts down when I snap. Now she's looking at me with those big doe-eyes. She knows I can't stand to see a woman cry, curse her.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, "I'm a little on edge. Don't know how long this body's going to hold up." She's quiet for a long time, but at least she ain't mad at me. We pull up to the blockade and she rolls down the window. She's making her Mary Pickford face at the officer. It always makes her look a good five years younger than she really is. It's gotten us out of scrapes before, people thinking she's an innocent high schooler. She softly greets the officers and asks them what's going on. "Trucker protest," they tell her, and I relax a little. They're looking for a convoy, not a pair of runaways. In a whispery little voice, the Waif makes conversation with the younger officer while the older gives a cursory glance at our papers. We don't have anything to worry about from him. They tip their hats to the Waif and motion us through. Thank God they didn't ask to look in the trunk, because I'm not sure how we would explain the Beretta M12.

Once we're clear of the blockade, she slips back over into her seat and puts the false papers away. "You think we'll run into that convoy?" she sounds a little nervous. "We might," I say. I hope we don't. A line that long'd slow us way down, and we can't afford to lose any ground. She takes a bag from under the seat and starts setting up paints around her. I used to get on her case about that, but with the way this old frame is going, what's the use? We're just going to trade it out eventually anyway. She's making a little wooden doll for her sister. We send one once a month, and she paints little clues into the body to let her family know where we are and whether we're alright. She works on it until the sun starts going down. We've been on the highway for seven hours. I pull over at a rest stop and park next to a big semi cab. The Waif likes semis, they make her feel safe. Personally, they make me nervous. I've got some bad memories of semi trucks from back when I ran with the terrorists I grew up with. It doesn't help that this guy is the same color as the one in my nightmares. "Audrey, make it short, okay? I want to keep moving," I call as she slips out. I can see the truck driver staring down at me.

I think it's time we ditched the old Mustang. When she comes back, I tell her to move the stuff out of the car and wait behind the vending machines. "Did someone recognize us?" she fidgets as she grabs the first aid kit and her bags. Just like we did when we started this journey, she hides behind the building and I cruise around the lot. I pretend not to hear her mutter, "Get one with a heater this time!" The trucker is still watching. I drive around to the other side of the station and make a fortunate discovery. A 2005 Mazda 3. Nice looking vehicle, but not so nice as to seem out of the Waif's price range. No one would suspect it of being stolen. I shoot out a nearly-invisible beam of light and begin scanning it. Well, the color will have to change, or else she can't call me Red anymore.

New body, new system. I'm still dangerously low on fuel, but people can see me now at least. I pull up to the vending machines and honk the horn. The horn works now, thankfully. The Waif looks like a little tourist as she scrambles towards me holding all her bags. "Come on, let's roll," I hiss. We can't risk someone noticing her getting into a different vehicle. The sun is completely gone now and it's getting cold. "You should try to get some sleep," I try not to sound concerned. She climbs over the console into the back seat. Her pillows and blankets are still under the seat, just a little squished. "Goodnight Red," she sighs. I turn the heater on and she smiles. In the rearview, I can see the big semi from the rest stop close behind us, but I don't tell her. It's probably coincidence anyway.

The stars are always prettier out on the highway. No lights, no cities, just acres of constellations. There's an obnoxious little Camaro keeping pace on our right side, I think he wants to pass. Whatever, pal. I got places to be. I check the mirror again. The semi's pulled up on our other side, staying at the same speed. That's probably not good news, and neither is the pickup tailgating us, I'll wager. This is bad, probably really bad. They force us off onto the nearest exit in the middle of nowhere. The Waif either hasn't noticed or thinks we're pulling off into a town. First chance I get, I'm leaving these clowns in the dust. The semi rolls down a window and the mustachioed trucker from the rest stop is barely visible. "Pull over, son." The kindly old voice has steel under it, and it is a voice I remember. There's no easy way out of this. I check on the girl in the back: she's almost asleep now. Whatever else happens, I won't let anything happen to her.

"I love you, Bonnie," I whisper. She smiles and snuggles into her blanket.

"I love you too, Clyde."


	38. Chapter 38

**Remember the one shot that I said was pretty much just out of left field? The one called "Last Lullaby"? (I don't remember what chapter it's in.) Well, here's a continuation of "Last Lullaby". Still out of left field.**

* * *

Discovery

It was truly remarkable, in a way, just how much Optimus Prime managed to survive. Megatron sat on a pile of rubble that had once been Outpost Omega, stating thoughtfully down at the fractured, sparking frame of his greatest enemy, trapped beneath fallen beams and boulders. "You're probably the only being alive who's been through nearly as much as I have, you know," the warlord mused aloud. Optimus couldn't hear him, of course. His systems were far to focused on keeping him from succumbing to the grievous wounds. "No matter what I throw at you, somehow or other you end up on your feet again, ready for battle. You are, without doubt, one of the luckiest mechs I've ever known." A humorless snort. "I almost admire you for that."

Rolling his shoulders, the champion of Kaon equipped his sword and raised his arm high, intending to snuff out the Prime's spark once and for all. Inches from the damaged chestplates, the blade halted. Megatron stood frozen, transfixed by the pale blue optics that weakly flickered to life. "_Pax Domina,_" he gasped, and forever after, Megatron was never quite certain whether or not he'd actually spoken the fateful name out loud. The resemblance was uncanny, now that he actually stopped to think about it. How odd that he should have spent centuries fighting a mech and never have properly looked at him. The optics had the same gentle tilt at the corners as hers, they possessed the same tendency to prefer reasoning to fighting. Curious, the Decepticon took the hand reaching futilely from the wreckage and examined it. Broad, flat servos...not the kind a Cybertronian of his caste ought to have had.

Being an archivist, Orion Pax should have had long, slim servos to aid in speed of typing, not the hands of a warrior. Megatron released the limb with a disgusted noise. What did he care? Similarities to the lost one were inevitable. They were both descendants of Prima, after all. And yet... He leaned down and stared at the disfigured faceplate. "I always forget how nauseatingly _young_ you truly are," he growled. He stood and began to walk a slow, measured circle around the helpless Autobot. "Did you know I had a son?" he began, then stopped and shook his helm. "Primus, what an awful word: _had_." He returned to his circuit, arms crossed behind his back. "He would be about your age now, provided he still lives-which my spark tells me is more than possibility. They took him from me, of course, and killed his Carrier on the orders of Sentinel Prime. And why? Because we were breaking caste." His optics glowed with some dark memory and silver talons clenched.

"She was a senator, my sparkmate, of the line of Prima. Just like you, Optimus. I was barely even a gladiator then. I was a _slave_, the lowest of the low. She broke into a coliseum to bring a wounded femme energon, and I saved her life." He sounded very proud of the fact, and a smirk touched his scarred lips. "She loved me, the poor wretch. Worse, I loved her, and Sentinel could never bear the fact that Pax Domina chose me over him." Even now he gloated over those long dead, and a low chuckle rumbled into the still air. Then his face hardened and his scarlet gaze grew cold. "Your precious Senate cut out her spark in the streets for carrying my son, and the unfortunate little creature was stolen by Alpha Trion-yes! Your beloved mentor!"

"The old deceiver often snatched away the children of the slaves, probably to a life more miserable than ever I knew. I once counted him a friend, much as you did. But then I learned who he really was; _what_ he really was. I realized that Domina's hope that he would protect our sparkling was vain at best, and that my miserable one would never know freedom. And I dreamt of vengeance, and I began a revolution. When first you came to me, I saw the mech my sparkling could have been. Maybe that's why I grew to hate you so much, Optimus. Everything _he_ should have had, should have done, I watched it all fall to _you_. It's as if you stole the life that-" he stopped, confused. "I can't remember his name. I can't remember my own son's name! Oh Primus, is _this_ what I've become?!"

With a bitter chuckle, Megatron sank down onto the debris beside his fallen foe. Almost before he realized what he was doing, he'd cleared some of the rocks from around Optimus's helm. Quickly, he drew back his hand and scowled. "Enough! Why do you torment me with her optics? Orion Pax, the peacemonger-" Megatron stopped mid-sentence. "_Pax_?" he repeated in disbelief. Again his servos drifted towards the dented cobalt helm, only to be snatched back at the last moment. "_Impossible_! Could it really be that simple?" the warlord murmured. He stood and looked down at the Autobot leader. "I will make you a deal, Optimus Prime," he rasped, "I will stay here and observe you this night. If at any point you should begin to relinquish your spark, out of respect for our old friendship I will ease your passing and see to it that your remains are treated with respect."

He paused and crouched again. "If, however, you live to see the sunrise, I will take it as a sign and you will accompany me back to the citadel. You will be repaired, and you will be questioned-though not, perhaps, on the subject you might have guessed." The massive warrior settled in to wait, optics falling on the handle of the Forge of Solus Prime. Well, if he tired of waiting he could use that and take the Autobot back to Darkmount for questioning anyway. For now, however, he would be patient. The watches of the night wore on and Megatron struggled within his spark with a tiny, unquenchable hope that Optimus would live. _For Domina, for the life you failed to save, _the stars whispered to him. He shut his optics. One way or another, he would know the truth by dawn.

Darkness. All was darkness to Optimus as he labored to clear his vents. All power was diverted to preventing a massive system crash. His left arm was barely attached at the shoulder, wrenched upward through the piles of concrete and rebar. The strain on the cables and joints was all that he could feel. In the hazy, error-message-filled mess that was his processor, Optimus had the vague notion that he ought to have been in excruciating pain, yet he felt very little. '_Is this what going offline is like?_' he wondered. He was very dimly aware of a voice somewhere above him, speaking words he did not understand. A distant memory floated through his mind of being sent to work in the Archives for the first time.

He was bigger than the other younglings, and his frame was different. They assumed he was defective and avoided him. Alpha Trion stood beside him, as he had done since before he could remember. "Be brave, Orion Pax," the strange old recorder had whispered, "For the sake of your peoples, you must be brave!" Looking back, as his processor cleared somewhat, Optimus wondered if the ancient Prime had been referring to humanity when he'd said "peoples". Loss of energon began to take its toll and logical thought left him. He went into an emergency power-down state to conserve his remaining supply of energon. In a torrent of blackness the pain returned, and in the midst of the hurricane, Optimus dreamed.

He saw faces he knew he recognized, but could not name. There was power and fear combined in one, deep sorrow in the other. A rending sensation seized his spark, as if it were being torn from his frame, and he could not stop himself from crying out. Someone whispered, "Remember me," and vanished, leaving no name, no trace but an inexorable feeling of loneliness. Slowly, systems began to power up as the sun rose, drinking in the warmth through tiny solar panels in the armor. It was not nearly enough to sustain Optimus; the damage was catastrophic. The voice was still there, babbling to something or someone. Then he was being lifted by many hands, and all went hazy again. He did not know how long he was in stasis, but something in his spark was urging him to awaken. When his processor finally cleared, he was staring up into a pair of familiar blood-red eyes. Something like a choked laugh sounded above him.

_"Found you."_


	39. Chapter 39

**Well, I've decided to try my hand at another Shakespeare-style thing. This time I was inspired more by ****_King Lear_**** and ****_Julius Caesar_****.**

**Okay, let's hope it isn't a monstrosity. **

**Can I just say that writing in iambic pentameter is kind of hard? **

**Darn you, Shakespeare, you set the bar too high,**

**So there I must jump, or else learn to fly.**

* * *

The Tragedy of the Decepticon

Act II, Scene I

**A room in Shockwave's laboratory**

o0o0o

(_enter Shockwave, Starscream and ST3V3. The Vehicon is injured, one wing drooping low.)_

o0o0o

_Shock._

My lab assistant by his wrath damaged,

And merely for the chiding of a fool!

If such a trifle merits upbraiding

Then who of us may walk abroad in peace?

o0o0o

_Stars._

By Solus' Forge, he wrongs thee, friend, yet I

Might caution hesitance. For certain 'tis

That lesser mechs for honor are not meant.

If my lord is slack of former court'sy,

I pray thee hold it no fault of his own.

The Autobots grow riotous, 'tis true,

And all his thought is bent on their downfall.

-o-o-o-

_an aside_

No ancient worm of fallen Eden's lies

Could outmatch this defusion of my speech,

For verily I 'most believed my words!

o0o0o0o

_Shock._

Nay, Starscream, do not give excuse for that which had no reason.

My lord's a cannon which left unchecked

May turn 'pon itself in self-destruction

Of unbridled temper, to the ruin of we

Who mindlessly serve, though it unseat us.

There is a time in a cause's journey

That finds fatal Fortuna's crossroads.

One road in state and safety slowly bound

Wherein th' abuses of mindless might

But slowly, slowly crush the spark of any reasoning mech.

The other considered, yet fraught with risk,

Calculated a danger and yet I deem

Ommitted, no further progress I'll make.

Yet can I pledge to take up this venture?

o0o0o0o

_Stars. (an aside)_

Now 'tis well he hath no imagining

To speed him forth independent of me.

Now may my intentions carry us through

To full blossom of that plan which my fertile mind hath planted!

o0o0o0o

_ST3V3_

What wakes in this chamber, I dare not name.

I take my leave and pray thou do the same.


	40. Chapter 40

**Goodness gracious, we're up to 40 chapters! Can you believe it? 40!**

**Apologies to the Doctor (or more properly, Steven Moffat), whose speech I borrowed for this one-shot.**

* * *

Defender

Earth: 3241 ad

It is said that the night before the ships came, every child on Earth simultaneously woke, screaming. When the sun rose, it could hardly be seen, for the sky was filled with crafts built for war. Earth had developed sublight capability; Earth was ready for invasion. Throughout the universe it was well known that the Milky Way system was home to some of the greatest natural resources left in that corner of space, but a man had come forward out of nowhere and forced the rest of the galaxy to sign a treaty stating that until the human species had the means to defend itself, they were forbidden to enter their world.

Naturally, some disobeyed. No one knows if the man in the box ever found out about it, but the invaders never returned. Now their fellows blocked the stars above Earth, waiting. Malfeants in their sleek Devestator-class warbirds clicked to each other, strategically positioning themselves above the Middle East. The Finger of Death organization hovered over Britain in their vast Juggernaut. Countless Gray Men and Verdolsnatches zipped back and forth above the frightened humans. This day, the Earth would fall. Yet the natives of the blue world were not without hope. There was a rumor-a legend, really-of one who had defended their world for time out of mind. Surmised to be the last or the only of his kind, supposedly he had watched over humanity in silence for over a thousand years.

He'd had different frames over the centuries, and no one even remembered where he'd come from anymore. He was Nameless-by choice-and never stirred until humanity was threatened. It was the cry of the children that woke him, and from his long sleep he rose, breaking the mountain that had formed over him. The Titan strode across the desert to the home of a people who dwelt in the rocks. "What is this whirring and rushing of ships?" he asked them, gesturing to the sky. An elder greeted him politely and answered, "Nameless, the days of the Hippocrates Treaty have ended." The colossus scowled up at the sky. "Oh _have_ they indeed?" he growled. "Nameless?" He looked down. Far below, between his feet stood a woman. "Mary," he nodded pleasantly. She smiled a little sadly. "No sir, I'm her great-granddaughter, Esther."

Nameless bent down to squint at the woman and the children who clung to her. "Esther?" he mused, "I'm always forgetting that you people don't live as long as me. What was it you were asking?" Esther stared at the sky, black with war frigates, and held her daughters close. "Can you stop them?" He smiled gently at her. "Don't I always?" He turned and began a trek towards the mountains. "Remember this day, my dears," the elder told his family, "Nameless will clear the sky. He is a good man." The Titan glanced over his shoulder with a wry smile. "I'm not, you know," he chuckled as he began to climb. At the summit, he stood arms akimbo and glared up at the alien ships. "Oh _come_ now, didn't you all learn from the others? No? Right then, line up: school is in session."

Using protocols older than most of the invaders' tech, Nameless hacked into their comm systems and began running translation programs. "Can everyone hear me? Hello? Let me see now, how to begin..ah!" A speech as old as his time as a protector came to mind, something a friend of the last Prime had used in a mildly similar situation. Well, he would retrofit it to suit his needs and the history buffs of Earth would laugh at him for it. Never mind, he liked to see them laugh. Striding up and down on the mountain's peak, the giant tipped back his head and bellowed to the sky: "_Hello up there_! Let's not waste time: we all know why you're here. Whoever takes Earth takes the universe! Well, _bad news _everyone: _look_ who's here!"

Just as the inventor of the speech had done, Nameless whirled and pointed up at the sky. "Look at you all, whizzing back and forth up there. It's very distracting, so would you mind holding still? Because _I AM TALKING!_" A feral smile spread across his face. "_Thank_ you! So who's got Earth? Answer: I do. Who's going to take it from me? Come _on_, don't be shy! Look at me: _no_ backup, _no_ plan, _no_ tech to match yours. Oh, guess what else I don't have? _Anything. To. Lose_. And that should scare you. So if you're all done sitting up their in your tiny little spaceships with your tiny little guns and you have any plans of invading Earth tonight, ask yourself this: _what happened to everyone who tried before?"_

There are words in the world with power in them. The power to save, the power to confuse, the power to destroy. Nameless held a word with the power to terrify. It had echoed through space like a half-remembered nightmare for over two thousand years. A black legend, feared by all but his own people. He had tried to bury it, to forget about it, and for a long time he had been successful. Still, there were too many enemies to fight alone. Nameless knew that just this once, he would have to say the word. Just this once, he would have to speak his name. Fiery eyes met the gaze of ten thousand invaders as five words were uttered, changing the course of history.

"_Hello, I'm Starscream. Basically, run."_


	41. Chapter 41

**This is a sequel to Slip Away, partly inspired by a red hatchback I saw in a parking lot once that somebody was living in.**

* * *

Two years I've spent runnin', avoiding the law and anything that looked even remotely like my past, and here's both, surrounding me. The Waif is asleep in the backseat. She doesn't know we're in trouble yet: I'm avoiding telling her for now. If I can ditch our escorts in whatever town this exit leads to, I won't have to wake her. Granted, this means I'll have to change alt modes again. The trucks and car draw in tighter around me, like they've guessed my plan. Dang it...well, I guess you don't get to be their age by being gullible. They force me off onto the exit and I realize that my plan wouldn't have worked anyway. There's nothing but a long, cracked stretch of road before us, surrounded by cornfields. I hate cornfields: they creep me out. I let the kid talk me into a drive-in theater once, and the only showing we could afford was a horror flick. I hate cornfields.

In the distance I can see a gas station, but it looks abandoned. That's where they're herding me. "Red?" Ah, _scrap_. She's awake after all. "Who are these guys? Where are we?" I tell her to keep her head down, not that it would do much good. If these guys have been following us since the rest stop, they had to have seen her getting in and out. "Remember the gang I grew up with?" I grunt as the pickup behind me lightly rams my back bumper-_just_ enough to tell me to keep moving. "These guys were part of the rival gang. This might be a grudge thing if they think I'm still with the band." At least, I think that's what's happening. They might've seen her changing vehicles and thought it was a case of grand theft auto.

She starts stuffing her things into the emergency locker under the seat. "We gonna have to run again?" she asks, tucking that hat of hers into the box. We could try, but I get the feeling that I couldn't outrun these guys. I could drop the Waif in the cornfield and lead them away, but they'd find her sooner or later...probably after I had died a horrible death. It looks like cooperation might be our best option at the moment. "Get the papers out, Audrey," I use the false name we'd decided on for the next town. "Whatever it says, you'll have to use those names and make up some kind of backstory." We've got plenty of contingency plans for if law enforcement catches us, but I never planned anything around giant semi trucks and Camaros with attitude.

We pull under the awning of the dilapidated gas station. Well, that's...charming... There are three-foot wasps' nests all over the place. The pickup parks behind us, blocking the way to the road. You do that, pal. If I decide we gotta get out of here quick, we're probably not taking the road anyway. I said it before and I'll say it again: I _hate_ cornfields. The Waif looks over the false papers. "Are we going with Audrey Burns and Red Ramsey from Richmond, or Bonnie Hughes and Clyde Morrison from Catawba and Austin, respectively?" What the heck, it ain't like it can get any worse at this point. I tell her to go with Bonnie and Clyde, for old times' sakes. Our little "escort" hasn't moved...it's like they're waiting for something, but I'm not sure what. "When I give the word," I whisper, almost afraid they're listening in, "I want you to jump out and run for the station store. You get in there-I don't care if you have to break a window to do it-and you stay there until I tell you it's safe to come out. No matter what you might see or hear, you stay put, got it?"

She climbs into the front seat and shifts into a ready position. "You want me to look for supplies while I'm in there?" That's my girl. "Yeah, just make sure there ain't a security cam. If somebody checks that feed and sees ya, they'd have a new face to look for. We don't want to have to change your hair again, do we?" She gives me a horrified look and clutches her scalp. It took her a long, long time to get that many braids to stay put, given that her hair is rather uncooperative. She'd _kill_ me if I made her cut it off now. The Camaro rolls up close to my left, the semi on my right is moving towards the pickup. It's gotta be now or never. "_Go_!" I hiss, popping the door open. She makes a break for it, as fast as her short legs'll carry her. I rev the engines and pull forward and left, blocking the Camaro from stopping her. The moon comes out and I get a better look at him. Yeesh. Black and yellow kill a fellow: that's what they used to tell us when I ran with the 'Cons.

At least they won't hurt her. These guys try not to let bystanders get into the line of fire, and from what I've heard, they're pretty protective of... Oh. Oh scrap. Scrap, rust it all, they probably think I kidnapped her! I hear the sounds of a big rig shifting form and there's a hand on my roof that you could fit a motorcycle in. I'm glad "Bonnie" is out of sight, because with the way I'm shakin' right now, I'd be afraid of springing a leak in front of her. And then I'd likely die of embarrassment before they took me offline. Heck, it'd save them getting their servos dirty. Ol' Black'n'Yellow transforms too and shakes a servo at me, like I'm a kid. I remember, this one don't talk. Uses his radio to get his point across, like he's doing now. "_You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time/ Run on for a long time/but sooner or later they'll cut ya down./ Sooner or later they'll cut ya down_." If I weren't a car right now, I'd crack a grin. You can't use Johnny Cash to intimidate me, the Waif makes me listen to his greatest hits cd every dang day!

"Wasn't runnin' from _you_," I mutter, even though I know that a surly attitude is a good way to earn yourself a dented helm-or worse. The big guy is frowning at me with kind of a disappointed look. Better than anger, I guess. I never fought either of these two in Chicago, and I'm thanking the Allspark for that. The big rig looks like he could tear me in two! "We'd rather not have to fight you," he says. Oh Primus, this guy's _voice_! Does he _know_ he's making the windows rattle, or is it normally that deep? "Look, I don't want any trouble," I tell him, a touch more politely, "Just let us go, and we'll be on our way." The pickup scoffs from where he's guarding the exit. "_Us_? What us?" he growls. I don't like him. Actually, I think I recognize the fella. "Yeah, us. Why, you wanna make something of it?" I shoot back.

"That's enough," the big guy lets go of me for a second, and I take the opportunity to transform. Man, I haven't stood on two legs in way too long. I stretch and wince when I hear some of my struts groan and pop. "Where're your buddies, 'Con?" the grouchy one snarls. Everything about this guy just screams aggression. "Heck if I know," I snap, "Maybe dead. Hope so, anyhow. On that note, ain't you supposed to be dead too? Last I heard, you went gunmetal in a pile of rust." He transforms and-oh scrap, he's got a hand around my throat. "Well you heard wrong, didn't you?" Oh, I'm going to die. I'm going to die surrounded by evil cornfields in front of the kid. "Ironhide, stand down!" The other two haul him off me and I fall flat on my tail end. I do _not_ have the energy to deal with this right now, and I am flat-out terrified. "Gimme a break, will ya?" I gasp, "I'm not with the Decepticons!"

The smaller one-he looks like a yellow jacket. I'm just gonna call him Bee for now-points at the badge welded to my chest. I've been trying to rip that darned thing off for two years, which hurts like the Pit, by the way. I sigh and run my hands over my helm. It's a distinctly human behavior, and I know they're probably going to pick up on that. "I deserted after Chicago, okay?" I mumble, avoiding their optics. The more human mannerisms I use, the less likely they are to suspect me of being some crazed killer. I hope. "They threw us from the crèches straight into battle, y'know. We didn't know a darn thing about what we were doing or why. Never had a reason." Bee actually looks like he feels sorry for me. It stings a little, being pitied by the folks you were literally born to fight, but it's also nice, in a way. I can feel some of my old aggression programs trying to come online, trying to tell me to fight and kill and whatever else Decepticons are supposed to do.

I start counting, like the Waif's mechanic buddy taught me, to calm down. "Boss man ripped two of my crèche mates apart for disobeying orders, and he made me clean up the pieces. You couldn't _pay_ me to go back!" Big, bad, and ugly crosses his arms. "You expect us to believe your repentant act? Once a 'Con, always a 'Con." Real ray of sunshine, this fella. "Why are you running?" the semi asks me calmly. "Human governments don't like our kind right now..." I mutter uncomfortably. I don't even know why I told him that. He's just kind of got this face you want to trust, I guess...even if he does scare the scrap out of me. "And the girl?" Moment of truth, Red, don't mess it up. "You leave her out of this!" Nailed it. They're not impressed-not that I thought they'd be. To be honest, I probably couldn't scare much more than a rabbit right now.

"Is she a hostage?" the big guy is pretty blunt about it. It's kinda amazing that they haven't blown my head off yet. My crèche mates always told me that the blue and red Autobot they called "Optimus" was the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type. 'Course, they could've been lying, but that's neither here nor there. "No! She ain't a hostage, we're on the run!" I sound like I'm panicking. I need to dial it down a notch. Who am I kidding? I am _so_ panicking! Bee plays a clip of an impressive-sounding voice saying, "_Come with me if you want to live!"_ He's got an inquisitive look. "Yeah, somethin' like that," I nod. It's not until the pickup and Bee train their guns on me that I realize I was backing toward the station. I don't know if they're buying my story, but it ain't looking good. "I'm sure you will understand why we would hesitate to believe you," Optimus says, shaking his helm, "But as the War is over, I find myself more willing to give you the benefit of doubt." I almost shutdown from pure relief and my whole frame relaxes a little.

The pickup-I'm pretty sure his name was Hide-looks about ready to blow a gasket. "Prime, you can't be serious!" he gestures at me, and I don't have to have grown up on Cybertron to know it's not a sign you make in polite company. Bee steps between us, surprisingly. Then again, from the start of this misadventure, he's seemed a little more compassionate than his friend over there. "_He is young/ he is only a boy_!" his radio sings. Well, I'm not too sure how I'm supposed to feel about being called a "boy", but if it wins me pity, I'll take it. Hide-or whatever his name was-stomps up to me. Oh scrap, I don't know what to do! I kinda want to punch him, but that wouldn't mesh well with my 'repentant runaway' look. "Tell the truth now," his voice sounds like he's been gargling nails. He probably has. "Why are you really toting a human around?"

At least I have an answer for that that's a little more articulate than the previous minutes' "please-don't-kill-me-I'm-a-deserter" spiel. It's a question that I used to ask myself a lot, actually, so I've had plenty of time to think it over. "She needs looking after," their optics light with understanding. Yeah, they know what it's like, hanging around a human, I'll bet. "The Feds were after her for saving me-I wasn't gonna leave her behind." I guess that was the right answer, because Hide is backing off. He actually looks slightly pleased with my answer, which is weird, considering he wanted to rip my face off a minute ago. "Please, I'm not with the Decepticons, I told you already," I look to the Prime and I'm as nervous as all get-out right now. "I don't know what three Autobots are doing around these parts and I don't _want_ to know. All I want to do is take the human and go on my way. I swear I won't tell anyone I saw you, just _please_ let us go!"

He looks like he's thinking it over. I need my trump card. "Bonnie?" I turn to the station. "You can come out now, I think it's safe." She peeps out the window. "You sure?" I turn to look at the Autobots, who sort of look away from me, like they're giving me permission or something. "Yeah, it's okay. Just c'mere, alright?" She vanishes for a minute, then comes around the side of the building with a backpack full of stuff. "Oh my gosh." is all she says when she gets a good look at our "friends". "_Dang_, Clyde, you didn't tell me you had the guys from the _Chicago Incident _after you!" She climbs up into my hand. It's been so long since I've used my robot mode that I'd forgotten just how small humans really are. One wrong move and they could be squished! My trump card is working, though, as I'd figured it would. Autobots are super protective of humans, right? Well if they see that a human trusts me (heaven knows why), then maybe they'll believe me when I say I don't want to hurt anyone. Which is true. Okay, no, it's _mostly_ true. I want to hurt the 'Con who scrapped my buddies, but I think he's already dead.

"Where ya headed?" Hide crosses his arms. I notice he directed the question at the Waif, rather than at me. Nothing I wasn't expecting: it'll probably be decades before an Autobot like him _doesn't_ treat me like a war criminal. Except Optimus. And this Bee guy. They seem to be just counting me as a wayward kid. Guess I am, if you think about it. "We're going to Texas," I answer, since the Waif looks kinda nervous. "Bonnie's got people out there." She gives me a surprised look. I don't think she expected me to share those details with strangers. My optics start to dim a little and I set her down. I never did get around to drinking that coffee she saved me. "You are low on energon," Optimus observes. I laugh. "Dang right I am, been living off coffee and gasoline!" Bee pats me on the shoulder sympathetically. "_Oh look! More lembas bread!"_ I like this guy, and I tell him so. Hide kind of laughs at me.

"You're kiddin' me. Coffee?!" We shrug. "It's havoc on his systems but at least it keeps us moving," the Waif says shyly. They haven't made any threatening moves for a while, so I'm assuming they've decided I'm not a danger to them. "So...can we go?" the kid asks, hoisting her pack higher, "I mean, you're not gonna shoot Clyde, are you? I kinda need him to stay alive." The Autobots exchange glances and Hide is looking at me again. "Tell me this, "Clyde": did you ever kill one of ours?" Oh, of course he asks the one question I don't have the answer to! "I'm...I'm not sure," I stammer, "I shot at Autobots, yeah, but I think I just hit buildings for the most part. It was really hard to tell in Chicago." Hide looks to the other two, and I remember that he wasn't there for that battle. The other 'Bots nod. Thank heaven they're corroborating my story! Hide steps back and my armor relaxes a little. I hadn't even realized it was so close to my frame.

Optimus stands aside and gestures to the road. "Stay out of sight, young ones," he cautions, "You are not the only ones the humans are hunting." We thank him and the Waif scoots out of the way so I can transform. Bee jumps in front of me, waving his hands. "_It's dangerous to go alone, take this_!" He takes something from his subspace compartment. Is that? Primus, that's a cube of energon! Is he actually...giving that to me? "I...th-thanks!" I manage. That's the first time I've ever seen a guy without a mouth smile. Waif thanks them too, even though I'm pretty sure she had no idea what the cube is. Hide still looks mad, but I think that might be his default setting. "If you run into a guy named Modesto down there, tell him he owes Will a drink. He'll know what it means." he grunts. Well...okay then. I transform and so do they. She climbs into the driver's seat and chucks her bag into the back. "Ow! Geez kid, you take the whole dang store with ya?" She laughs and punches the wheel, like she always does.

"We'll go with you as far as the highway, then we must vanish as well," Optimus says. My gosh that guy's got a deep voice. If the kid weren't inside me right now, I'd be worried that it would rearrange her internal organs or something! "Thank you. For um, not killing me on sight," I sound like an idiot. We hit the road and, as promised, our escort disappears at the highway. It's quiet for a while. "Well _there's_ one to tell the grandkids," I say, "We met Optimus Prime and lived to tell the tale!" She snorts. "You got some grandkids I don't know about, Red?" She ain't too amused when I tell her I was referring to her grandkids, what with humans aging faster and all. Gah, the face! The face! Change the subject, quick! "What'd we get?" I ask. The Waif grins and pulls that backpack of hers out of the back. "Granola bars, chocolate, sealed energy drinks, a bag of stale Bugles and a couple of CDs." Well that'll keep her going until the next city, anyway.

"Just so long as it ain't Johnny Cash again," I groan. She holds up a case. "Nope. It's the Muppets." I take it back, Cash is fine. That laugh of hers is downright evil as she sticks the country music in. Before long we're cruising down the road to a familiar tune. "_I was totin' my pack along the dusty Winnemucca road,/ When along came a semi with a high canvas covered load./ If you're going to Winnemucca, Mack, with me you can ride./ And so I climbed into the cab, and I settled down inside./ He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand,/ And I said, 'Listen._

_I've traveled every road in this here land!"_


	42. Chapter 42

**Ooh, I haven't done a two-in-one chapter in a while, how about we do that? The first of these one-shots is inspired by just how much of a teensy Ratchet Raf becomes by the end of season 3. The second was inspired by the movie "Galaxy Quest".**

* * *

More is Caught than Taught

The computer bug hadn't seemed like much more than a minor annoyance at first. Jack would look up from his homework every now and then to see Raf scowling at the screens, fingers flying over the keyboard. He didn't think it was serious until the youngest human dropped a curse that would've made even _Miko_ blush! Jack and Arcee stared, dumbfounded. Finally the cycle-bot managed, "Rafael Jorje Gonzales Esquivel! Who taught you to say that?" Sensing that he'd done something wrong, Raf meekly pointed towards the med bay. "Ah-ha. Thought so," the femme sighed.

Hands on hips, she marched into the medic's quarters. "Ratchet," she said calmly, "Have you been teaching the kids Cybertronian?" Barely looking up, he answered, "A bit, here and there. Why?" His project was abruptly snatched from his grip and held hostage by Arcee as she replied. "Oh, no reason. Just thought you ought to know that the baby just said an eight-glyph word." Ratchet very nearly glitched then and there. "He _what_?! What did he say?" He paled further when Arcee whispered the swear to him. "You see, this is precisely why Wreckers shouldn't be given charge of children!" the old medic groused.

"Not so fast, Doc," the femme matched his fierce grimace. "Raf didn't learn that word from Bulkhead! Who does he spend most of his time on base with, huh?" Understanding dawned in Ratchet's optics. "That's right, he learned it from _you_, rust-mouth!" With a muffled curse, the mech sped out of the room to find Rafael. Arcee returned to the main chamber to hear him whispering to the boy, "It's alright, I know you didn't mean any harm. Just don't say it again and Optimus need never know it happened." Arcee raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

In the evening, after the humans had gone home for the night, the Autobots gathered in one of the back rooms of the base and Optimus handed out their daily energon rations. Respectfully, the others waited until he had murmured a quiet blessing over the fuel and the day's events, then each found a seat on the large crates scattered about and chatted back and forth as they drained the cubes. Between Bumblebee's tale of an unfortunate flying Vehicon and Bulkhead grumbling about traffic, Arcee coyly piped up, "So, Raf learned a new word today." Cheerful inquiries were made, assuming that there was little that their youngest did not know, but eager to hear all the same.

Arcee smiled mischievously behind the rim of her energon cube. "Hey Ratchet, what was it he said, exactly?" All eyes turned to Ratchet, who nearly spit out his ration. The medic's optics bulged. "Sneaky tell-tale!" he hissed resentfully. Optimus gave him a disappointed look. "Oh _Ratchet_, not again!"

* * *

All the 'Verse is a Stage...

"Well offhand, I'd say that went rather well!" Mettoron Pax stood and brushed himself off, heading for the airlock. "And by _rather well_, you mean _absolutely horrible_, right?" Grimhelm moaned from the back of the landing craft, "Because I can't feel one of my wings right now." Mettoron ignored him and opened the hatch. "Seems stable enough," he remarked, "Okay, set scanners for energon so we can finish up and get back to Eep and the rest of the Verdolsnatches." Weblink pushed past him contemptuously. "You say that like you actually know what you're doing," she sneered.

"She has a point," Grimhelm stood shakily, "Do you even have a plan?" The large silver mech flashed a charming smile as he stepped out onto the organic surface. "Sure I do! Get the energon, refuel the ship, stop this Warlord Sarjj fella and get back to Cybertron without anyone being the wiser!" Grimhelm and Weblink exchanged glances. "You mean, "without the Verdolsnatches finding out we're not really Megatron, Starscream, and Airachnid."" the femme retorted, hands on hips. Mettoron considered this for a moment. "Yeah, that too."

Grimhelm sniffed as the trio made their way through the woods. "Well at least _one_ of us knows how to stay in character! I, for one, have had plenty of time to study Starscream's quirks and motivations." At the front of the line, Mettoron Pax groaned. "Here it comes: the Iacon Theater rant again." They trudged miserably along as Grimhelm complained behind them. "How did we get into this mess? For that matter, why did I ever agree to play Starscream on that stupid _War for Aart _show in the first place? I was a thespian! A thespian, curse you!"

Mettoron sighed and waved the scanner about, picking up a faint signal from the north. He turned to Weblink, who strolled along placidly. "How can you stand this?!" the huge mech wondered. "Huh? Did you say something?" she removed rolls of webbing from her audial receptors and grinned. "Has he passed the part about the three encores yet?" Several feet behind, Grimhelm was loudly declaiming, "..._The Tragedy of the Decepticon_! I played Shockwave; three encores! Three!" Mettoron shook his helm. "No, you're just in time." Weblink gagged and put the webbing back on.

Eventually their search led them to a valley filled with huge energon crystals. "What did I tell you!" Mettoron exclaimed, "I know what I'm doing!" He crouched at the edge of the rise and squinted down. "There's some life forms down there. I think they're the miners." Weblink shaded her optics and laughed. "Well of course they're the minors! I mean, look at them! They're no bigger than sparklings!" The mechs stared at her for a second. "_Miners_, not _minors_!" Grimhelm snapped. The spidery femme blinked. "Back up, you lost me." She turned back to the hollow. "Are they all organic? I think they are! They're so _cute_!"

Reluctantly, Grimhelm and Mettoron agreed that the small organics did have a certain unsettling appeal to them. "Alright, here's the plan," Mettoron whispered. "I'll distract them and you grab a crystal." Before they could stop him, he had slipped down into the mine and was approaching the myriad organics. "Greetings!" he called, slowly and loudly, "I am Lord Megatron of the _Nemesis_: I come in peace!" Above him, Grimhelm nearly glitched as he realized something. "Organic planet, organic sentients, high concentration of dihydrogen oxide...oh scrap, this is Aart! We're on Aart!"

Weblink shouldered a smallish crystal and shrugged. "So we're on Aart. What of it?" The slender actor caught her arms and shook her urgently. "Didn't you ever watch the show? Those are 'yumans! Think on your history: what did the Decepticons do to the 'yumans' home?!" Realization filled rose-colored optics and the femme hollered down into the valley, "Mettoron! Honey, you don't want to be standing there right now!" He frowned up at them. "What?" Grimhelm slapped a palm to his faceplate. "Run, you idiot! They think you're the _real_ lord Megatron!" The 'yumans had gathered in numbers and were advancing slowly and silently, armed with crude blasters.

"Well scrap." was all Mettoron had time for before he and his companions were completely swarmed by the surprise attack. They woke to find themselves anchored to the ground by thick chains and heavy weights in front of the mines. "I'll have you know that I blame _you_ for this!" Grimhelm hissed. "Shut up, Starscream," the others answered dully. The crowd of 'yumans parted to let an elder of their species through. The old man glared down at them and, surprisingly, addressed Mettoron in Cybertronian. "We always knew you'd come back here one day, Megatron. I have to say, I'm a little surprised that you're still alive!"

Mettoron gulped. "Look, this is all a big misunderstanding! I'm not really Megatron, I swear! We're just actors!" The man's eyes narrowed. "We shall see," he said gravely. A younger 'yuman with an impressive rifle leaned over to the old man. "What do we do with them, General Esquivel?" Peter J. Esquivel turned to the young soldier and quirked an eyebrow. "Take 'em to Bay," he rasped, "If they're telling the truth, he'll know." The three Cybertronians looked at each other concerned.

This did not bode well.


End file.
